


Labyrinth

by Ch4rl13Sm1th



Category: Trollhunters (Cartoon)
Genre: Changeling!Jim, F/M, halftroll!Jim
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-06 23:19:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 57,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14658324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ch4rl13Sm1th/pseuds/Ch4rl13Sm1th
Summary: Jim is undergoing some changes and it is not your standard puberty. Fortunately his AP History teacher knows what's going on and how to handle it, but at the cost of reality as Jim knows it.





	1. Becoming

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own TrollHunters. Tunafishprincess has been a phenomenal beta reader, and a huge motivator for this story getting published. Referenced works include the movie Labyrinth directed by Jim Henson, the book TrollHunters by Guillermo del Toro and Daniel Kraus, and the book The Adventure Begins by Richard Ashley Hamilton.

_Author's note: I do not own TrollHunters. Book The Adventure Begins by Richard Ashley Hamilton, based off of the Netflix series from Guillermo del Toro's TrollHunters was heavily referenced and makes for excellent supplemental reading. A huge thank you to my beta reader, Tunafishprincess, author of the fanfiction Blue Moon Rising and other works._

He was running out of time. Surrounded by Vespa parts, he twisted around, searching the attachments for some sort of clue that any of these pieces belonged together, or even to the same model.

His time was running out.

As if in confirmation the blaring sound of his alarm yanked him from the dungeon of parts dealers. He smacked the device and rubbed his head. The throbbing from last night hadn't ceased. His head still ached, soreness following the muscles up the sides of his head and down his neck. Maybe he could alleviate it when he stood under the shower.

He really needed to get a better shampoo. The top back of his head itched. He massaged the suds into his scalp to treat the dandruff, doing so gently with the back of his head when he realized how tender it was. Did he hit his head last night?

Toby awaited him. "We're going to be late, Jimbo." As a peace offering, Jim held up the paper sack he'd prepared for his friend and offered that they take the shortcut to make up for the time he'd lost cooking. Dreading the day ahead, Jim rode hard on the slopes, building momentum. Toby's complaints trailed faintly after him, suddenly lost in the air as Jim broke away from gravity to jump his bike into the canal. In this moment, when his body was suspended, so were his fears, that sense of dread, and seemingly time itself. It didn't matter in that moment that he was an ordinary high school student living an ordinary life. For a second he was something else, if only momentarily airborne.

But life hit hard as cement.

Suddenly his vision stopped registering, and sound was drifting back to him slowly. Reality was the coarse cement under him, though his body was not certain that the direction was down.

"Jimbo!" His name broke through the haze. He was flat on his back, his head elevated by the bulk of his helmet. Sunlight reminded him which way up was. It took him some time, what felt like minutes, to gather first his breath and eventually his voice.

"What happened?"

"You must have fallen. Why didn't you wait for me? I told you to slow down!" Jim accepted the outstretched hand and hauled himself into a sitting position. He reached to rub his head when a bulk dropped into his lap. At first he didn't recognize it, but eventually concluded he'd split his helmet down the middle. Always wear a helmet, his mother's voice echoed in his mind. He looked around. The canal. A pile of rocks. Did his bike hit a stone? Or was his coordination suffering because of the headache?

"Do you need to go to the nurse?"

The bell sounded. "No time!" He yanked himself and his bike upright and charged up the ramp, Toby trailing after him.

•••

He scratched at his head absentmindedly. He'd picked up a habit of combing his fingers through his hair in class, and it was becoming more frequent. Occasionally he'd pause in his writing to look at his fingertips, covered in a thin film of gray dust, tiny chips of dandruff under his nails, similar to shards of stone. The itchy areas were on either side on the back of his head, and the only thing he could figure was that he had a skin condition that was going to make him bald. His voice was deepening, as expected with puberty, but to jump from that to balding? He thought bitterly to himself that he couldn't ask his father about their genetics.

Mr. Strickler of course noticed Jim's lack of focus, or rather poorly directed focus, and called him out.

"Jim, would you agree?"

"Sir?" Maybe he did hit his head too hard. Besides the incessant headache, he could only hear his heart throbbing in his head. He had no idea what his teacher was asking and he knew Claire was watching and his hair was probably ashy and he should stop scratching. He babbled something in response and was interrupted thankfully by the bell. "Jim, may I have a word?"

Jim looked up expectantly as he prepared his bag, which he'd accidentally rested too close to the edge. It fell over, dumping the contents. His coordination was really suffering today. Maybe he should visit the nurse? "Jim, you're distracted," his teacher stated, and helped him to gather the contents. Yeah, maybe that was all.

"Sorry, I didn't get a lot of sleep last night."

"I know it's just you and your mother, and that you want to help her-"

"She's just really tired, Mr. Strickler. She's been working double shifts at the clinic." It surprised him how considerate his teacher was being, having expected to be chewed up and spat out. It was like a requirement to teach in Arcadia high to be able to tear apart a kid with just words, something señor Uhl was notorious for.

"I believe I'm long overdue for a conversation with her." He scribbled out a sticky note and held it out to Jim. "Have her call me, please. And feel free to drop by my office if you ever need to talk."

"Yeah, I'll do that." He pocketed the note and headed to his next class, holding his breath until he was truly free from Mr. Strickler's watching eyes. Before he reached the door, his teacher called him once more. "Oh, and Jim, if you fancy Miss Nuñez, I submit that talking to will be much more effective than staring at." Jim smiled awkwardly before finally getting away.

•••

His heart continued to throb in his head. P.E. didn't help. In fact the physical exertion exacerbated the headache and amplified the thudding of his heart like a massive clock in his head.

He was running out of time.

He couldn't justify this reasoning, that panic that life was slipping past him, like he was dreaming of the disfigured Vespa parts. So, what was he waiting for?

He saw Claire in the bleachers with her friends Darci and Mary, looking something up on Mary's phone. He straightened his gym uniform and willed his body to not betray his recent clumsiness. The pounding in his head amplified with anxiety, but he was going to go through with this. He summoned his courage and opened his mouth, and immediately regret it.

"Buenas noches!" What?!

The three witnesses seemed to be thinking the same thing by the way they were starting at him.

"You… speak Spanish?" Claire was talking to him. Good thing? Bad thing? He couldn't sort through the throbbing anxiety to find an answer, stuttering over syllables that were neither English nor Spanish.

"C'mon, Claire," Darci offered, she and Mary standing to detract from the sudden awkwardness. Claire followed suit but then paused.

"Do you like Shakespeare?"

"Um, what?" Wow, she was still talking to him.

She pulled out a flier from her notebook, depicting a balcony scene with the title in ornamental writing. "The school play. We're having a hard time getting boys to audition." She smiled at Jim, tucking her hair behind her ear before gracefully catching up with her friends. He would do anything for that smile.

"Hasta huevo!" Like learn proper Spanish one day.

•••

"So, good news, dude! My orthodontist says I'm almost done with my braces! Only four more years!"

Jim was glowering at Steve from across the pavilion as they walked, oblivious to Toby's news. "Nothing to see here," Toby attempted to deter.

"We can't just let him do that." Was… that a growl?

"Oh yes we can. If Steve's terrorizing Eli, he's not terrorizing us."

Why did he feel constantly like he was running out of time? The beating of his heart like a clock matched the rhythm of his feet as he marched across the breezeway.

"Tell me again, dweeb face. Tell me again about the creatures, and maybe I'll let you out," Steve instructed the locker.

"Or you could let him out now." His voice was deeper than he intended, catching the attention of all the students around him.

"Hi, Jim!" Eli called out hopefully from the locker, quickly disrupted by a bang from Steve's elbow on the metal.

Steve carried on, ignoring Jim. "Where were we? You were telling me about the monsters you saw this morning, with fangs and- what was it again?"

"Stone for skin! In the canals!" The canals? The stones he tripped his bike over-

"Stone for skin? Man, Eli, you really have an imagination."

"Look, Steve, seriously. Just let him out." Time slowed. Steve was reaching for him but his vision was shrouded in black.

"Palchuck! What's going on here?" Just like in the canals, sound reached him from far away before his vision started to register again. Jim blinked away the blackness. Coach intervened. How much time passed just now? At least this time he was upright.

•••

"You've been really out of it, Jimbo. What did the nurse say?"

"I didn't go."

"Are you at least going to talk to your mom? What if you have a concussion?"

"I'm fine, Tobes. Just tired." They parted ways.

It was through Toby that Jim discovered what took place in the breezeway. Apparently he had an appointment with Steve Friday afternoon. Not that he heard him, it was like he'd blacked out on his feet.

•••

Jim began his nightly routine, switching on the TV to decompress. The headache was getting sharper, pulling the muscles in his neck. He rubbed the sides of his head, applying pressure with his fingertips and pulling back toward the source of his pain. His hands froze when he found it. He scratched it. This was not dandruff. This wasn't even skin or hair. There was something hard on either sides of his head. It repulsed him to feel something hard coming out of his skin. Was it part of his skull? He had a helmet on this morning, he couldn't have cracked open his head. There wasn't blood, just skin around this hard bump like around his nails. He decided to just leave it alone. He was the only one home. Maybe he would talk to his mom the next time he saw her as Toby suggested.

Sleeping on it didn't make it better. No matter what excuse he made himself, he could not deny that there were hard stone things protruding from the back of his head. He shuffled through a box on his closet for a cap. Looking in the mirror he decided he looked normal enough. Maybe it was fortunate that Toby had an appointment at the dentist's today, and tomorrow, or he would definitely freak out and equate it with brain damage.

•••

"I don't believe that is proper school attire," Mr. Strickler's voice cut through Jim. Class had barely started and already he'd violated dress code and dreaded exposing the back of his head the rest of the day.

"No, sir." He tried to avoid looking at Claire's direction to see if she'd laugh with the class, and for an instant he imagined a look of terror on her face at discovering horns growing from his head, the class gasping, someone shouting "demon child" and the other students screaming. This image drove him to quickly ruffle his hair, forcing some volume in to hide the growths. Mr. Strickler lingered over him for longer than he was comfortable.

"After school stop by my office," he instructed. Great. His AP history teacher was going to skin him before Steve would get the chance.

•••

He sighed heavily to gather his courage before knocking on the door. It was just a dress code violation, how bad would this be? Except that these horns kept getting bigger, and he wouldn't be able to hide them much longer. Fortunately after they broke through his skin, the tension that pulled the muscles across his head ceased. The skin around them was tender, but the migraine was over with. "Come in."

He forced a smile. "Hey, mister Strickler."

"Ah, young Atlas. Have a seat." His teacher gestured to the piano stool in front of his desk on his way to the windows. Jim obeyed, tempted to raise the seat but too anxious about what punishment he'd earned to go through with the action. Instead he watched Mr. Strickler shut each of the blinds. "I didn't know you were a baseball fan."

"What? Baseball's my favorite!" He chuckled nervously to lighten the mood, but was made instantly uncomfortable when Mr. Strickler turned the lock on the door. He turned on another lamp to compensate for the sunlight he'd blocked out.

"Really? What's your favorite team?"

"Um…" Habitually Jim scratched his head. What were the local teams?

"You don't have lice, do you?"

"What? No, sir. Maybe dandruff…"

"Then you won't mind me looking." Jim's breath caught in his throat as the adult stepped closer. The teacher poked his pen through Jim's locks, right above the deformation. He couldn't breathe. He was totally exposed. It was like these horns were his vulnerability and he was totally naked in front of his teacher. This could be worse than his nightmares. "I know what you're going through." Mr. Strickler leaned away.

He was calm? How could anyone be calm about this?! "What's happening to me?"

To Jim's terror he chuckled. "Puberty."

"That's not funny!"

"Considering the circumstances, this is perfectly natural."

"What are "the circumstances"?"

Mr. Strickler exhaled, hands steepled, as if preparing to teach a lesson. "There is a vast world beneath our feet, hidden from humans for centuries."

"Oh my god, I'm Satan's spawn!" His teacher's eyes bulged with surprised, and then he began to roar and snort with laughter.

"Certainly not, young Atlas! Beneath the surface is a world teaming with various creatures you must have heard legends about. Trolls, gnomes, the likes. And then there's us." He rested a hand on Jim's shoulder. "We are what are called changelings. You are descended from one, a hybrid. You have trollish genes that are starting to surface in your transition from adolescence."

"Troll puberty," he repeated.

"Something like that."

"What's a… change- thing?"

"A changeling is an evolved troll that is able to take on a human appearance."

"You're… not human." He tried to be polite with his tone and word choice, but he had to process this new information out loud. "I'm not human." His instructor didn't speak, waiting for the reaction after the words settled like dust. "I'm dreaming. That's it. Just a horrible dream that I'm a monster and my teacher-" Stay polite, he instructed himself- "is going to give me a mountain of homework."

"Educating you on your place in this new world is a must," he jested.

"I don't believe it. If I'm like you, why am I the one with the…" he pointed at his skull.

At that, Mr. Strickler stood his full height before the room lit up with a green flash. Jim winced at the sudden glare and blinked at the form before him.

Though this creature shared some of the same traits, such as the large nose and grey streaked hair, this clearly wasn't the human he always saw his teacher as. His skin was green and reflected light like unpolished stone, his torso and arms had grooves, four teeth poked up against his upper lip, and his ears were pointed. As Jim's eyes drifted up slowly, he felt his heart rate increasing, almost falling into a panic at the glowing eyes that lit up the green stone around them, but when he finally saw the horns his alarm ceased. He did have horns. They had a bony color, and curved behind him in points. Somehow knowing that he wasn't the only one with these unusual growths made him feel less alone, and his heart rate returned to normal. He felt unusually calm, now that it finally sank in. He was not human, and he was not the only one.

Mr. Strickler, if that's what he should continue to call him, watched Jim's eyes linger above his head. "Do you want to touch them?"

Jim closed his mouth, which he hadn't noticed until then hung open, and then nodded subtly. This stony creature bowed slowly to him, and warily Jim traced a finger on one. He was too overwhelmed to want to do more. There was a knock at the door and a flash of light, and his professor straightened to his full height once more.

"Mr. Strickler," a gentle voice muffled through the door.

"One moment." He opened the door to Claire, whose eyes widened as much as Jim's at seeing each other.

"I'm sorry, is this a bad time?" She seemed embarrassed for Jim, and he deduced she probably assumed like he had that his being summoned here was related to the dress code violation.

"Not at all." He turned back to Jim, gesturing to the door. "Don't forget to have your mother call me so we can meet up to discuss your bright future," he concluded their meeting. Jim was confused, but grateful that his professor painted such an appealing picture in front of the girl he had a crush on. He smiled nervously as he passed Claire, who beamed at him with her bright eyes that gave him the feeling of breaking from gravity.

•••

How could he focus on studying for Spanish when there was a whole other world he was part of? Trolls? Gnomes? Were there elves and wizards, too? He stepped outside to clear his mind. A gentle breeze touched his face in greeting, playing with the hair around his horns. As otherworldly as this headgear was, it felt natural for him, as natural as his teeth. He took off his shoes and socks to feel the blades of grass under his feet, trying to freeze time in his mind and savor every detail of this world as he knew it before it flipped upside down. The sunset. The ripple of his shirt in the building breeze. The birds singing before they roost for the night. The neighbors dogs howling in the difference in the change of air pressure.

A rapid change of pressure. He poked a finger in his ear. It was like pressure building in a cabin, hurting his ears, filling the air with static. As suddenly as it began, it ceased. He rubbed the base of his ears and looked around. The clouds were normal, no approaching storm or anything unusual. The birds and dogs were quiet, he could only hear the hum of the highway in the distance. He went from rubbing his ears to rubbing his horns. How long could he keep up this facade?


	2. Becoming (contd)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: I do not own TrollHunters. Thank you to my beta reader, Tunafishprincess. You give me motivation and courage to publish.

Toby still had an appointment to tune his braces on day two. Jim took the long way to school, looking around as if with brand new eyes. The cars that drove past him seemed different. Maybe it was because he was aware that the people in them were people, human beings living their normal lives. He was not like them. Maybe this was the "something more" he had craved so badly, something that separated him from ordinary life. He couldn't imagine that it was his mom that was the otherworldly creature impersonating a human. Did he finally know something about his father? Would Mr. Strickler know more? He bubbled inside with this new knowledge and debated telling Toby the next day. Or…

Claire wasn't in class today. Perhaps this was for the best, as his best friend wasn't there to nudge him from his stupor before their teacher noticed. Not that he felt anything would go past him at this point. Though Mr. Strickler carried on like nothing happened, Jim had the feeling he was constantly being watched. The bell rang, and he leapt from his seat, taken completely off guard.

"Jim, a word please." The class poured out to disperse in the halls, and the classroom had a different feeling to it, like it was a pocket dimension that didn't belong in this world as they exchanged words creature- to- creature. "I haven't heard anything from your mother. Did you give her my number?"

"I haven't seen much of her lately, she's been taking double shifts at the hospital-"

"You're running out of time," he warned. "You will keep developing, and it won't go unnoticed. Do you know what will happen when it is eventually addressed by those lacking the proper knowledge? Have you seen E.T.? It's about a creature that finds himself in the wrong world, far from home and aid from his fellow comrades and at the mercy of the humans that didn't understand." Jim remembered when he was younger, seeing the plastic tunnels and the dying alien, sickly and white, undergoing all those experiments. "Phone home." Mr. Strickler handed Jim another sticky note like the first, with his number scrawled in black ink.

•••

"This is Gun Robot. Pick up your phone."

Jim smiled softly at the reassurance of an ally in this confusing time when his phone went off. He reclined on the couch as he answered. "Hey Tobes."

"Did I miss anything?"

"Not much. I got your homework for you."

"... did the teachers know you got my homework?"

"They made sure I did." Toby groaned at the responsibility and his sore gums.

"I'll come over in a bit."

After disconnecting Jim stared at the dark screen of his mobile device. Phone home. What was he to tell his best friend? Hey Toby, remember when I hit my head? Well since then I found out I'm related to a literal troll and I'm growing horns, and I hope that's all because our history teacher is pretty creepy when he's not in his human form. Toby would probably make him go to the hospital, and from there he speculated it wouldn't take much for some scientists with government level clearing to kidnap him.

His friend's voice carried over to the living room from out front. "Hi, Dr. Lake!" His mom was home. "I just came over to pick up my homework, I had a dentists appointment," he heard his friend explain.

The door opened and Jim leapt from his seat to pounce on the opportunity. "Hey Jim, I forgot my phone," his mom called out.

"Hey," he went to greet her, holding out the sticky note.

"What's this?" She took the note from him, adjusting her purse strap on her shoulder as she read it. Her son was so well behaved, she couldn't imagine that he would have gotten in trouble.

"My AP history teacher wanted to talk to you. Something about a bright future and potential, he wanted to explain more in person." He borrowed the words Mr. Strickler used in front of Claire for a smoother delivery.

"Mister Strickler?" Toby puzzled.

"I know right?"

His mother was elated. "Is that so? I knew it was a matter of time before someone saw what a brilliant child you are." He instinctively flinched as she reached to ruffle his hair affectionately.

Nervously he chuckled away the sudden tension. "Dandruff," he simply stated.

"I've got to go, kiddo. I'll call him on the way back. Oh right, my phone-" she departed up the stairs.

Toby repeated, "mister Strickler?"

"I know! Who would have thought?"

"What did he tell you about this bright future thing?"

"Let's sit down." He waited until a few seconds after his mom had driven off the driveway before diving into parts of the story. He couldn't bring himself to tell his friend about their teacher being a monster, or that he himself wasn't the human they grew up believing he was, but he knew that whatever Mr. Strickler intended included getting Jim "home" to whatever world he belonged.

"You're moving?!"

"Maybe. At least he seemed to imply as much. You know how when he says something, it's like he's saying a lot of somethings?"

"Yeah. It's almost like thieves cant, if that were a thing."

"Thieves can't what?"

"It's a thing in one of the games, like a code- language that only other members of this secret society understand. If there were a code language, he would be the kind of weirdo to know it."

"Right…" boy, were he and Toby mistaken about their professor. And yet they were kind of close, weren't they? He remembered the warning about E.T. Having no more to say, Toby left with his documents, leaving Jim to play with his phone before switching on the TV to drown out the nagging feeling this world caused him.

•••

His body was sore. There were men in white with their faces covered, surrounding him on a bed. Was this a memory to the time his mother took him to the ER? No, this was different, they were chiseling his skin, flesh crumbling away like the K-spar in the canal. He looked up from his body back to the scientists. Their eyes were glowing red and yellow. One of them held up a chainsaw and cranked it.

He didn't recall ever being so grateful to wake up to his alarm. He smacked it and groaned. His body ached. Troll puberty. Maybe his muscles were just growing according to his troll genes now? He looked at his skin and squeezed his arm. Still flesh.

He was grateful to have company on the way to school again. Toby complained about the city engineering project in his mouth, and Jim tried to forget about the scientists. "So how do you intend to survive Steve?"

"What?"

"He's going to beat you up today, remember? That tic, toc thing he does in PE?"

"Is that why he's doing that? I thought he knew something."

"What?"

"Nevermind." He tried to drown out the metronome in his head with the hissing of the bike tires.

He got lost in his mind a lot lately. Toby might have been saying something about his Argyll socks but Jim was soaking in what Mr. Strickler told him after class. He was coming over for dinner Saturday to discuss relocating Jim to an institution something something. What all did he say?

"Hey, James Loser junior. Did you forget?"

Jim looked up from his mind and took a moment trying to recall why Steve would be talking to him. "It's pummeling time!"

"Oh, I did forget. Had a few things on my mind." Toby was visibly growing concerned, shifting his body as he looked around for an excuse or a story to delay or prevent Jim's untimely death.

Insulted Jim was not as concerned about the fight as he intended, Steve tried to instill fear in his victim. "What's on your mind? Wondering how deep I can drive my fist into it?"

"Go for it." The slowly building crowd gasped.

"You're seriously asking for a beating?" Steve's will was breaking, but he was fighting to not let it show.

"Yeah. Listen, I don't have much time. Neither do you, if you really think about it. We won't live long enough to see a century, so why put anything off for later? Or why even bother with me?"

"Steve, don't do this!" Jim's eyes darted to the girl with a shock of blue in her raven locks. Could he take back that speech? Because he didn't want Claire to see him turned into pulp.

"Stay out of this." Steve pushed her, and in slow motion she fell back and was caught by someone in the crowd.

The world turned black.

When the light returned, he was standing in front of Steve, who was crumpled against the lockers. Jim turned back to Claire and heard his voice like it was coming from somewhere else. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

He looked back at Steve, whose dignity was just as crumpled as his form. Eventually he realized that coach was behind him.

"Explain yourself, Palchuck!"

"It's my fault, coach," Jim piped.

"This isn't about you, Lake. Palchuck, you're disqualified from the team!"

"What?" Steve whimpered.

"No, coach, it was a misunderstanding!" Jim held out a hand to Steve, who started at it in confusion. "I was being too rough and knocked him down. Don't know my own strength." Steve eventually accepted the hand and pat Jim on the shoulder when he was on his feet.

"Yeah. Caught me off guard." The students knew what was up. Jim and Steve were playing buddy- buddy because to be caught fighting would take Steve out of sports.

Coach Lawrence eyed them both warily.

"This is why we don't have PDA! Keep your hands to yourself, Palchuck!" Steve obeyed immediately, withdrawing his hand from Jim's shoulder, relieved to not have to touch his enemy.

"Jimbo, what happened back there? You head butt him in the chest! Threw him to the ground! You were amazing!"

"I did? I wasn't really myself. Maybe it was adrenaline."

"It was like you had super strength or something! Try to pick me up! Let's see if you have super powers!"

"I'm sure it was just adrenaline, Tobes." And genetics.

"But why did you help Steve get out of trouble? Coach would have brought swift justice on him!"

"I don't want my mom to know I was in a fight," he reasoned. Honestly though, Steve looked pitiful. Jim didn't want to be responsible for ruining his life when he couldn't even keep his own from falling apart.

After school was tryouts for the play. Despite the growing horns and with it the growing fear that his horns would be noticed and that he was running out of time, a part of him still thought about that play, so he couldn't help but wander over to the auditorium where auditions were being held. He was glad he did, even at Toby's protestations. He arrived in time to watch Claire's performance. Every word she recited rang with truth and integrity, and he longed to be framed alongside her by the curtains. But alas, there were no monsters in this story. He sighed when she disappeared behind the curtains.

"Don't do this to yourself, Jimbo." His friend pat his shoulder, making him realize how much he was sagging. "She's out of your reach. You're going to be moving."

Jim was about to agree when his ears betrayed him. "You came!" The music of her voice was enough to make his chest swell. She dashed over from backstage.

"Claire!"

"What position are you trying for?"

There was that sinking feeling again. "I can't, I'm going to be moving."

"Oh." He didn't expect her to be so downcast. Was it that hard to get guys to try out?

"But, Tobes here is your guy. He's great at acting!"

"I am?"

"Sure you are! You can always manage to get away easily with calling in sick!" He leaned in to Toby's ear and whispered. "And you've always wanted to be a duke."

Toby perked up, renewed. "Oh yeah, I'm a natural."

Claire smiled, pondering. "You should try out for Mercutio. He's Romeo's best friend. I'll get you a copy of the script!"

She sauntered over to Ms. Janet to acquire the papers and Toby turned back to Jim.

"I don't think this is a good idea."

"If they don't get enough guys, they won't be able to have the play at all. You're helping the whole school! And you know there's going to be plenty of ladies participating."

"You know me too well. And I guess it would be good to help the school make this play happen." He puffed out his chest, imagining himself a valiant duke, sacrificing the shelter of his comfort zone for the good of the school, and so that Jim's crush could have her play.

Claire returned with the script. "Knock 'em dead," he encouraged Toby. To his surprise, Claire didn't resume her seat with the drama arts teacher.

"When are you moving?"

Judging by the size of my horns, as soon as possible. "I'm not sure yet. Mr. Strickler says he has connections that can help me reach my full potential or something. He wants to meet with my mom so he can discuss the details in person."

"Wow, this sounds really serious. I mean, it has to be if you have to move." Suddenly she pat her purse with great severity. "Oh no. I gotta go, be back- soonish!" She dashed out the double doors and Jim heard Ms. Janet call the next actor. Toby! He found himself a seat in the fourth row, as far back in the audience he could casually go without risking someone sitting behind him. Tobes looked clueless on stage, but he compensated for it with his enthusiasm.

•••

It was Saturday. To Jim's building paranoia, he discovered his ears ached. Much like with the dandruff that preceded his horns, stony little shards of dandruff came off at the tops of his ears, reminding him that Mr. Strickler's monster form had pointed ears. Great, another mutation. Hopefully he could stay human enough until after dinner. Mr. Strickler would finally reveal his plans for saving Jim from discovery. But could he be trusted? He knew nothing about this vast world where trolls were real and shapeshifters hid among humanity. Who's to say his false history teacher didn't intend to dispose of him? Yet he was the only one he knew who knew. He had horns just like Jim, and he understood.

He busied himself with cooking. Twice baked potatoes and an elaborate sauce to go with marinated pork chops consumed his time and attention. "You're getting fancy," Barbara commented. "Maybe I should make apple pie when I get back?"

"No thanks, mom, I'll take care of it," he was quick to volunteer.

"But you already have yourself spread so thin."

"I can handle it." He pecked his mom on the cheek on her way out. He really hoped she'd make it back in time, that work wouldn't keep her past dinner. He was certain it was a matter of time before she accidentally felt a horn in his mop of hair, and he couldn't imagine what her reaction would be to discover her son wasn't human.

It was for the best, right?

That phrase echoed prominently in his mind, drowning out the conversation. Walt, as he referred to himself now, used the same skill that maintained the concentration of a class to captivate Barbara. Jim was relieved to see her smiling and enthused, lighting up at Walt's application of the words opportunity, potential, destiny, etc.

"When would he be leaving," she finally asked. Jim stretched his hand out towards hers in anticipation.

Walt was good with words, but the delivery on the next set was tricky. "The tickets are for a plane that departs tomorrow morning." Her jaw dropped, and she reached for Jim's hand. By her grip he feared they'd already lost. Mr. Strickler would not be able to pry Jim from her fingers.

"T- tomorrow?"

"I'm sorry to have to tell you at such short notice. I understand, however, that Jim's reluctance to tell you himself was due in part because, well, he feels a certain responsibility to you." At the mention of his name she regarded her son, her eyes brimming with confusion and loss. "I deduce that he imagined that if he delayed to the last minute to tell you, he may console himself that the cost of this opportunity meant your contentedness."

"Oh, Jim." Great, Mr. S. Make my mom the bad guy for costing me my future. Real cheap. But at the same time, it was a means to a vital end, and despite Jim's fears it seemed to be working.

"I'm sorry mom."

"You have nothing to be sorry for! Except, well, not telling me sooner. You know I care about your future! And I'm responsible for you! I'm the parent!"

"I know, mom." He smiled sheepishly, but his eyes were filling with water. He knew what was really going on, but seeing the fear and love in her eyes over rode his selfish fears. "I really want to do this," he assured her and himself. "You're always helping people, and saving lives, and I look up to you because of that. This won't be the same, but I would have a responsibility as a leader, and that's almost as important, right?"

Oh dear he made her cry. She rose from her seat and descended on her knees beside him to hold him to her. "Oh, my son. You were always my hero."

•••

His obnoxious alarm woke him an hour earlier than usual. He was relieved to find he'd finally fallen asleep, but it felt like mere moments ago. Maybe it was. He had some changes of clothes, a hair brush, other hygiene essentials, his essential magazine, and a DVD of Gun Robot 3, Toby's and his favorite sleepover movie, packed in a small carry on. He found his mother downstairs making- were those supposed to be omelets?

"Wow, mom…"

"I made breakfast!"

"I, um, can't eat this early in the morning. Can't have an upset stomach on the flight." Her expression was down cast, and he rushed to recover. "Because of altitude!" He realized she missed the accidental insult, that the weight that dragged her down was her trying to come to terms with her only child and only immediate family moving across country at such short notice. It was a slap in the face to not have told her first thing! It would have only bought them a few days to prepare, days he wasn't sure he could actually endure, but she was suffering and it was because of him. Without verbal explanation he embraced her.

"I'm going to miss you, mom."

She was silent as she swallowed tears. She finally sniffed. "I want you to call and text me so much I'm sick of you!" The dam broke and a new flood of tears cascaded.

"I'll text you all the time," he assured her. He knew her responses would be few and far between, such were the habits of a doctor. But there would always be a text waiting for her whenever she got a break.

He waited by the door for her to finish grabbing her things before loading his single suitcase in the trunk.

"Jimbo!" His best friend huffed from across the street.

"Tobes," he sighed. Saying goodbye to his mom was hard enough. Toby approached, panting, holding out a small package. He must have been watching from the window in his room and run down the stairs and out of the house in a matter of moments. Jim accepted the gift from his sad friend and opened it. "No, this is your favorite rock!"

"Yeah, for my favorite person." He continued to swallow for air.

"I can't take this."

"I didn't ask you." He straightened himself up, giving Jim a look that dared him to turn down his precious gift. Jim smiled instead and embraced his friend.

Throughout the drive he looked at the box on his lap. It was such a humble gift, but such a generous sacrifice. His mother glimpsed at him at red lights, occasionally listing off motherly advice. Make sure you get plenty of sleep, don't be afraid to make new friends, etc. Advice he would argue she should follow, but now was not the time to mother his mother. Mr. Strickler awaited them at the front of the airport. He held Jim's box as Barbara hugged her only child one last time, holding him tightly to her, with one hand holding his head-

He yanked away quickly. "Ha hah, forgot to brush my hair. Good thing I packed some conditioner to comb that out when I get to the hotel!"

"Was that just a matt?"

"I know, I need to take better care of my hair. Love you, mom!" Her shoulders sank as she forced her lips to curl into a smile.

"Love you, son." Mr. Strickler swiftly offered her a travel pack of tissues with a reassuring smile.

After they watched her leave, Mr. Strickler returned Jim's box and they walked inside the terminal.

"Washington, huh?"

"As far as anyone is concerned, yes." He escorted Jim around the lines, up the escalator to baggage claim, and to the back where employees parked. A shuttle pulled up, and Mr. Strickler took Jim's luggage and loaded it on a rack above the seats. Jim cautiously took a seat, glancing around. Would anyone else take the shuttle with them? Did Mr. Strickler know the driver? If he wasn't flying to Washington, where was he going?


	3. Descent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own TrollHunters. Tunafishprincess has been a phenomenal beta reader, and a huge motivator for this story getting published. Referenced works include the movie Labyrinth directed by Jim Henson, the book TrollHunters by Guillermo del Toro and Daniel Kraus, and the book The Adventure Begins by Richard Ashley Hamilton.

What had he done? The school Mr. Strickler and he praised so much to Barbara was a facade, as much as Mr. Strickler's humanity. The location was a lie. He wouldn't even leave Arcadia at all! How was he going to go unnoticed living in the same town as everyone who knew him?

Seemingly in response, Mr. Strickler held out a garment. "Try this on for size," he offered. He draped the fabric on Jim. A hooded cloak? It humored him how old fashioned his teacher was. Mr. Strickler adjusted the large hood over Jim's head, enough room to shroud his face. "Good, it should still fit after your horns grow in. Who knows what kind of developments you'll undergo; I thought it possible you might outgrow a jacket and resorted for a one- size- fits all option."

"I gotta admit, it's pretty cool." He spread his arms to see how it draped.

"How about a tour of the new place?" Jim looked dolefully around. To his right was a half- kitchen with a bachelor's fridge. To the left, a small dining table in a small room. Behind him was the front door and an adjacent closet. Ahead, what he assumed were the bedroom and bathroom. He completed the tour with his eyes.

However, when dealing with changelings appearances were deceiving. Mr. Strickler escorted him to the back of the bedroom, to a closet that shared the same wall space as the bathroom. Jim glanced around at the mysterious volumes on the small desk opposite the room from the bed. He couldn't even read the titles on the binds for some of them. He glanced back at his teacher in the closet, frowning with curiosity. Mr. S. was squatting to reach a plate cover, which he slid aside to reveal a keyhole. To Jim's surprise, he clicked his pen apart and inserted the formed metal bit into the hole and turned. "A changeling lock," he explained. "Only a changeling can turn one." The wall fell away to a dark chamber, iron rungs in cement leading down below the floor. "Shut the door," he instructed. "After me."

Jim was perplexed. When one is told that they're descendants of a race seemingly existing only in fairy tales, they don't expect to find themselves following their monster- teacher into the sewers from a secret passageway in a closet. As if back in class, or maybe assuming a guardian role, Mr. Strickler lectured him on his new place as they walked through the cool caverns. "I do not recommend freely exploring the subterranean passageways, young Atlas. Not unless you're willing to meet your fate early. Many creatures lurk through here, nearly all I imagine capable of overpowering you at this time. I aim to remedy that, eventually. This way."

"Where are we going?" He softened his voice after the first syllable, surprised by how much his voice carried in these caverns.

"We're helping you get your bearings. When you're ready, these passageways will take you anywhere you need to go unseen."

"I'm going to live in the dark? In the sewers?"

"What do you see over there?" He stopped beside where Mr. Strickler halted, looking down the chamber at graffiti.

"Is that supposed to be the two masks they use in drama?"

"A human can't see that far in the dark, Jim. Think of it as a gift." Jim hummed to himself. He could see in the dark. It felt normal enough, it was still dark to him. Just, not blindingly. "I hope you won't mind." Without missing a beat his teacher switched into his (avocado dad) troll form in step. "The museum is this way."

"The museum?" Jim followed him down the labyrinth, trying to memorize the turns and place landmarks in his mind. He never was good at memorizing directions.

"You'll come to find that the easiest place to hide things is in the open. The museum is a rendezvous point for us."

"Changelings?"

"Indeed."

"Are they all like you?"

"Hm? Ah, yes. They're either of the appearance of being completely human or completely troll. And yet, they are truly neither."

"Is there anyone like me?"

"A hybrid? None have been documented." So he was one of a kind. A fluke?

"Why do you want to help me? I'm not even really like you, and you don't trust humans…"

"Potential, young Atlas. I know it when I see it."

At this troll Strickler regarded him with a confident smile, like an appraiser finding a precious trinket. Jim beamed inside. He didn't mind being that sort of a one- of-a- kind. "Do you think I could ever transform?"

"It's not out of the question." How liberating to be able to openly ask about these things! The questions started to come to him faster.

"So, it was probably my father who was, or I guess is, a changeling, right?"

"I would concur with that deduction."

"So maybe… is there a way to find him? Like, is he a member of that thing you mentioned before?"

"The Order? That's a difficult question to address at this time. What he did was…. uncouth."

"Which part."

"When he begat you. He left, didn't he?"

"...yeah. On my fifth birthday."

"He would be unwelcome in both worlds then."

"I guess? It's not like I hear from him."

"Understandably. I won't be able to give you a solid answer, then."

"That's fine, I don't really care." Jim sighed to himself. Strickler knew better but also knew the opportunity to probe was not now. "What does the order do?"

"That is a very difficult question to answer at this time. Knowledge is powerful, young Atlas. It is my hope that in time more will be available to you, hence the volumes on your desk. Learning Trollish is a must, and I will aid you as much as I am able. Please understand for now that I have many commitments to uphold. You may not see much of me."

"I get it. You have a job and stuff." He pondered over how to ask his next question. "Will I get to meet other changelings? Maybe they can help me when you're not around?"

"Those are my intentions. One will rendezvous with us this evening. I'm working out arrangements for you to meet regularly with others."

"A playdate?" Jim chuckled at his own joke. Troll Strickler smiled.

"Of a sort. Though I won't be able to find anyone your age." The pace of his words slowed, as though there was something he was saying without saying it.

"What… do you mean by that?"

"Changelings are full grown trolls by the time they're assigned a familiar, the familiar being approximately a year in age, never more than two. Once their human form reaches adulthood, their aging slows. All the changelings you meet will likely be centuries old." Jim's mind was boggled. By comparison he was an infant! Could he find his place in a world that consisted of the same inhabitants for decades, or did that make them opposed to new members like hybrids?

"So, what is my place in this world? Neither of my parents know what's going on-"

"You have that much in common with every changeling."

"Oh good." He let their hollow steps help him sound the next question in his mind before he voiced it out. "Am I going to live longer than humans because I'm part changeling?"

"It's possible, but uncertain." Strickler didn't say aloud that it was possible for the opposite to happen, that the combination of his genes could cause his organs to petrify with dead stone and end his life prematurely. It was hard to know what would happen to him, a one if a kind hybrid of incompatible species.

"You mentioned there were other creatures, like fairies and gnomes and stuff. They all live in the sewers?"

"No, no. Fairies lost the war long ago and have since been extinct. And gnomes won't dwell this close to the surface."

"And the rest of the trolls? The ones that aren't changelings?"

"Locally they live in a town nearby referred to as Heartstone Trollmarket. It's miles below the surface. However you would be very fortunate, or unfortunate, to ever see it. It's rather difficult to access, the gateway closely guarded." Jim smiled at the name of the town. That felt as fantastic as he expected a magic world to be. Speaking of which…

"Does magic exist?"

"To a degree, it exists in the way you imagine. It's been a long time since there were any known wizards, for example, but there are a few magical artifacts and such. And a changeling couldn't become a changeling without magic."

"What kind of artifacts? Like, magic swords and stuff?"

"Exactly. Magic swords and stuff."

"Your cloak, it's not magic, is it?"

"Hm?" Jim had been staring at the knives that decorated his collar. "No, it isn't. And neither is yours."

Jim didn't need to be told as much. He amused himself with a daydream of it making him invisible, allowing him to go back to the "surface" as Strickler referred to it. He'd want to see his mom, and Toby. Maybe if they were the only humans who knew, he could visit them from underground occasionally and not have to be afraid of being discovered and the consequences Strickler alluded to. "I do, however, intend to outfit you in such a way as to make you less vulnerable. Hence our rendezvous this evening. Speaking of which," he gestured to a grate above their heads, accessed by iron rungs like the ones by the apartment. "This is the final destination for your route. Once we have you properly equipped, you'll be able to traverse these parts independently."

Jim realized he was distracted by his questions and didn't clearly remember how to get there, so he asked fewer questions on the way back to focus on navigating the tunnels. He caught on after a while that for the most part the tunnels aligned with the streets, which he was familiar with because of his bike rides with Toby. It was a shame he couldn't take the shortcuts he knew so well, being forced by the structures of the chambers to stay within their confines. Or was he? There were numerous locations where metal ladders led to a grate or manhole cover. Perhaps after he got his bearings and memorized the tunnels, he could recall the locations of the exits to places on the surface he recognized and resume or improve upon his shortcuts. The thought occurred to him when he considered that Strickler led him to the changeling rendezvous point and said he would go there himself. "Am I going to be part of the order?"

"In due time, I believe you have the potential to become more than that."

They returned to the apartment, Strickler restoring the disguise of the entrance as well as his own disguise. He removed a trinket from his pocket and gave it to Jim.

"Cool, Gun Robot. Is this a flash drive?" He turned it around in his hands.

"Yes." He tried to open it and was surprised to find a twisted metal piece forged into it.

"I get my own key? Awesome sauce!" Suddenly his eyes were downcast. This whole secret identity thing was really isolating. He'd text Toby soon, just to let him know he was okay. He could at least tell him that much. Mr. Strickler reviewed the books shelved on the desk and stacked two separately from the others.

"You'll need to learn to read and write in troll. This one has the complete alphabet in the front, and you can practice writing on the notebooks in the drawers. It's all yours. A computer, it's dated for a reason. It's been modified to run smoothly enough, but the hardware is simplified to prevent certain knowledge from being stored or accessed. We must safeguard our secrets." He looked up from the small, thick laptop and was moved to see Jim's sorrowful expression. "After the uneventful flight and swift shuttle, you'll be in your dorms by four pm Pacific time. You can let everyone know you arrived safely after that."

"Thanks, Mr. S." He forced a smile.

"What do you say we eat?" At that, Jim took the lead and explored the kitchen. The necessities were there, as far as dishes and utensils, which to Jim included everything necessary to sauté, mix, blend, bake, lightly fry, and so on. There were various quality meats, which he knew he'd have to reassess later to plan meals before they expired, and plenty of produce for well balanced meals. He checked the small pantry and was content with the grains available, finding some he hadn't cooked with before and was eager to try. And he was well pleased with the spices, sifting through them to consider his options. Then he halted over a label. And he regarded the label of another one. "What is this?"

"Apothecary ingredients. To aid in the teachings of potions. The book is on the desk with the others."

"I can make magic potions?"

"It's seemingly magical, I suppose. The natural traits of certain things can have otherworldly effects, as you've come to know them." Jim scratched his scalp around a horn and Mr. Strickler sighed. "Put simply, yes, you can make potions. But don't rush to sample them, we should learn more about your physical composition before you start to tinker with it." Jim shelved the jars as he found them. Always triple check the label, he made a mental note.

"Does steak and asparagus sound good to you? I feel like I could eat it raw, I'm so hungry." Mr. Strickler pulled up a barstool to the half wall, smiling to himself. He recognized that Jim was craving the high mineral content in the beef that his body would need for whatever transformations they would witness soon, which influenced Strickler's choice in groceries. And steak and asparagus did sound really good. He also discovered what a treat it was to sample Jim's cooking.

Jim surprisingly felt the most at ease he could ever remember. He didn't remember the last time he had company while he cooked, and it was empowering to have so much quality food to choose from, and answers to the questions that once haunted him, be they the select few he decided to voice about his father or curiosities about the other creatures that were hidden except in lore. Mr. Strickler's narrative voice was soothing, and Jim felt comfortable being completely open to his mentor. After they cleaned their plates, Mr. Strickler pointed out the time. "I'll be taking my leave for now, young Atlas, but I'll be back in a few hours. Sleep off the jet lag, hm?"

 


	4. Descent (contd)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own TrollHunters. Tunafishprincess has been a phenomenal beta reader, and a huge motivator for this story getting published. Referenced works include the movie Labyrinth directed by Jim Henson, the book TrollHunters by Guillermo del Toro and Daniel Kraus, and the book The Adventure Begins by Richard Ashley Hamilton.

__Jim plopped onto his new bed, sighing contentedly. He finished a great meal, and for the first time in a while with someone to talk to. He was a one of a kind creature in a new-to-him world, with a secret passageway he had his own special key for, and a cool, gothic hoodie. After four pm he could message everyone that he was okay. In the meantime, he was starting to become accustomed to the horns and was relieved he didn't have to hide them anymore. They were in an of themselves his rite of passage. Strange how a conversation with someone with the right voice could really turn a mood around (cough cough, Morgan Freeman).

It seemed as though the moment he blinked he was asleep. In his vivid dream he was visiting the things and places he had just explored and discovered there were tiny creatures living in the cabinets and books and closet and a magical sword under the bed and potions in the drawers and a suit of armor in the closet. When he awoke he realized it was after six pm. What a relief to finally get some sleep after a week of paranoia.

He messaged his mom first, expecting he wouldn't hear back for some time, and sent a friendly message to Toby. His phone went off with Gun Robot's voice within moments. "Hey, Tobes!"

"Jimbo! How is it on the other side of the world?"

"It's nothing but croissants and French fries over here. Seriously Tobes, it's just the other side of the country," he lied.

"I got the part!"

"What? Oh, right, the play! Mercury something?"

"Something like that. I'm going to have to learn my name soon, Claire takes this really seriously." Jim laughed. Neither he nor Toby could pretend to know Shakespeare. "By the way, if an unknown number calls you, answer it."

"Why? Who is it?"

"The secret service." He'd never been so instinctively terrified by a joke his entire life.

"Ha. Very funny." His tone was dead pan.

"So? How's the new place?"

"It's cool. Mr. Strickler was right, I have everything I need here. Well, no TV. Maybe I can play movies on the laptop."

"You have your own computer?"

"It's really not that impressive."

"My nana's calling me, gotta go Jimbo."

"Bye, Tobes."

He inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. A new day, a new adventure, right? Mr. Strickler said he would be meeting another changeling tonight. His phone alerted him to a text. He exclaimed when he read it. "No way!" He messaged Toby immediately.

 **J:**  You gave Claire my number?!

 **T** : Did she call? What'd she say?

 **J:**  text. Jim? This is Claire Nunez

 **T** : did you respond?

 **J** : I was busy freaking out!

 **T** : forget me! Talk to her!

What should he say? Why was he overthinking this?!

 **J** : hey! Get the part you want for the play?

 **C** : Yes! Toby did, too

 **J** : he told me. That's great!

 **C** : Guess who got Romeo

 **J** : Eli?

 **C** : Steve

 **J** : can't be that bad right?

 **C** : there's a kissing scene :P

 **J:**  NOOO

 **C:**  I know

 **J** : fake it

 **C** : what about you?

 **C:**  how's the new place? Get a roommate?

 **J** : nah, just me.

 _Wanna come over?_  He typed out the words to humor himself and immediately deleted them.

 **C** : did you get a scholarship? Maybe I can apply. ;)

 **J** : Mr. S just knows the right people. Maybe you could ask him?

 **C** : what are you studying for?

How to be a good troll? Potion brewing? Magical lock picking?

 **J:**  some leadership program thing

 **C** : Mr. S must see a lot of potential in you, that's good!

Wow. He thought Claire didn't know he existed, but here she was praising him. He rubbed his horns to ground his fluttering heart. Maybe in another life there would have been a chance.

 **J** : hope I don't disappoint

 **C** : nonsense! You were really brave with Steve the other day. I know you have it in you.

 **J:**  truthfully I wasn't thinking or I wouldn't have done it.

 **C** : I don't mean fighting him. When you defended him to coach, that was really mature of you.

 **J** : thanks

He smiled to himself. A few miles away his crush was taking the time to text him, riling the beating in his chest every few moments his phone dinged. Maybe she was home, pausing between answers on her homework. Maybe she was out with friends, smiling when her phone notified her of a message.

 **C** : can you send me a picture to use for your contact?

… this meant he was entitled to ask the same, right? He dug around through his photos to find one that put him in the best light. Of course, it would be the one his mom took on a picnic. He sent it with the question "you too?" He was probably blushing the whole time he waited for a response. He decided to start on his evening, washing his face in the bathroom and meandering to the kitchen for a light dinner. He sent a short message to Toby about his successful attempt at communication this far, but Toby was probably having dinner since he didn't respond for some time. He instructed himself not to, but the instant his phone alerted him to a response the device was in his hand. He gushed over her photo, leaning against the fridge. When the front door opened he slipped his phone into his pocket.

"Evening, Jim. Ready for your first day on the job?" Mr. Strickler stepped in and locked the door behind him.

"Of course! I was born ready."

"I got you something a bit sturdier than your current bag. Hopefully you won't spill your things anymore with this design. This one's from my personal collection." He handed Jim a bag made with worn leather. How old was this thing? Jim was pleased to find numerous pouches, pockets, and slots. "It's made to hold a potions kit, very durable and safe to store glass in."

"Cool, thanks!"

"Pack what you need, we'll be heading to the museum for the majority of the night."


	5. Janitor Jareth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own TrollHunters. Tunafishprincess has been a phenomenal beta reader, and a huge motivator for this story getting published. Referenced works include the movie Labyrinth directed by Jim Henson, the book TrollHunters by Guillermo del Toro and Daniel Kraus, and the book The Adventure Begins by Richard Ashley Hamilton.

"For your training, I will be making you head of an undercover department."

"Are you serious? I really doubt I fit the criteria." He trailed behind Strickler, his voice echoing through the empty sewers, cloak billowing slightly with each step. He was grateful for the unconventional garment, it blocked the chilly evening claminess that would have seeped into his bones.

"Oh, I'm more than sure you're capable. Your underlings will be regularly testing your mettle, just make sure that you are not afraid of them."

"Should I be afraid?"

"I just instructed the opposite. They can literally smell fear."

"Oh." Must be a troll thing. Maybe he'd actually meet a troll today.

"You are to assign them a mission. I wrote the instructions for you to relay, but there will be no paperwork after this. We can't leave a trail." That was something Strickler emphasized often. Changelings don't leave trails. Jim was handed a paper with scribbles in Strickler's handwriting, with vague steps that included obscure locations and times and crude descriptions of objects, and somehow without using numbers. He folded the slip into his satchel.

They crawled through a narrow opening that fed them into the museum from the sewers. Jim's horns scraped at the opening of the passage and he rubbed them in surprise. He might be able to become accustomed to them if they would just stop growing. "Nomura," Strickler called out softly. The architecture caused the sounds of their steps to be multiplied, his soft call amplified.

Jim heard boxes shuffle around and saw a large shadow cast on the wall down the hall. His first troll. He wasn't sure whether he was eager or terrified to meet one. The shadow crossed the hall, and it's source peeked her head from the opposite side of the doorway. "You're here," a delicate woman retorted. Definitely not a troll. Probably not human.

"I've brought our latest member."

"So you're the Goblin King, huh?" She smirked. "Are you scared?" A green glow like radiation flashed in her eyes, pupils slitted like needles, and stared through Jim. It was indeed surprising.

Strickler sighed through his nostrils, exasperated but still in control of his irritability at her.

"Goblin King?" Jim repeated.

"Not the official title-" Mr. Strickler started to remedy.

"No no, janitor is a more appropriate word." Her at-first melodic voice sounded raspier with each syllable, a hiss hinting behind her voice.

"Please don't interrupt me." Strickler was not nearly as amused as Nomura, and Jim was becoming wary about his new position. "Follow me, Jim, I'll introduce you to your subordinates."

The smell met him first. Then the chatter. Little groans and hand- feet pitter patter that scaled the walls and ceilings were the source of ambient sounds Jim confused earlier for multiplied echoes. "This is your army, Atlas. They need to make a very important delivery tonight. The details are documented as previously referenced. I need to assist Nomura, I'll be nearby but to make your job easier, do not request assistance from me, or you will never get them to obey you."

"Okay. Tell them what to do. Got it." Strickler abandoned him with the creepers, which edged closely around him, muttering to each other. "Hey, guys… and girls… are some of you girls?" Their murmuring got louder, less of a whisper and more of a chatter as if they were definitely talking about him to each other, disregarding how that might affect him. They were an encroaching mass, eyes yellow like Troll- Strickler. Jim tried to pay no attention to the fact that they were surrounding him now.  _They're just trying to get closer so that they can hear,_  he reasoned to himself. He cleared his throat, trying to not allow himself to be deterred by their sharp teeth and large numbers. "I am your new boss, and… I have some instructions, and you will follow them. And no funny business. Do I have everyone's attention?... Do you even understand English?" He couldn't understand their murmuring, but syllables were coming out of their mouths and they were nodding to each other. He tried to figure out what they were saying with their gestures when one leapt up and snatched the paper from his hand and disappeared into the swarm.

"No!" He cried out hopelessly. Strickler must have known these creatures were hard to work with, couldn't he have given him tips or at least warned him that these things were kleptos? They were fast, piling together on top of the goblin with the paper in its hand. It was snatched by another. And then another. The sheet passed between hands and hand- feet, finding its way swiftly up the wall beyond his reach. Jim tried chasing after the mass without stepping on limbs, which was not easy and made him particularly wary about the sharpness of their teeth. "Bring it back here! I said no funny business!" He didn't stand a chance trying to match their speed. The instructions were out of sight as the carrier scrambled through an alcove to the neighboring room. He heard the paper tear. He felt a tug at his satchel that yanked his attention to his personal belongings, which were now quickly being passed around the crowd. Strickler's book, Jim's notebook and pen, the apple he brought as a snack, Toby's rock, and suddenly the phone that once was in his jeans pocket were spreading throughout the crowd that exclaimed in celebratory "meen-da!" cries. One of their faces literally lit up from the screen of the device. Did they figure out how to unlock his phone?!

"No! Stop! Give it back! Why aren't you listening to me?" He was having a difficult time not feeling fear as one goblin started to tear a page from Strickler's book Jim brought along to study. "YOU. EYEBROWS. DON'T YOU DARE EAT THAT."

The goblin halted, the page precariously close to his wet tongue, mouth agape and staring wide eyed at his master. Great, replace fear with anger, that might be the trick. All the goblins had halted in their various positions, every one of them slowly turning their head like a hinge to give Jim their full attention. Hundreds of glowing yellow eyes were on him. "What? Eyebrows? Is that where we draw the line?"

The goblin, which indeed had bushier eyebrows than the others, frowned in confusion but traced a finger over his/ its/ their eyebrows. Jim's eyes grew in elation. "You understand me! Bad Eyebrows, do not eat books. Give it back." Eyebrows placed the sheet back in the book mournfully, which it clasped in its hand- feet, closing the distance between them by crawling along on its fingertips. It held to Jim the object requested, which he quickly packed away in his satchel. "Good Eyebrows. That's much better." It looked up at him sorrowfully. Jim looked down at himself and his possessions. He removed a shoe and pulled off a sock, which he held out for the goblin. "For your loyalty." The goblin began to reach for it eagerly when it was yanked back. "Loyalty," Jim emphasized. "This is not a ticket to freedom. Understand?" It nodded eagerly and snatched the garment from him, devouring it contentedly. "Again," he addressed the crowd. "I want all my things returned. Especially the instructions you stole. I need every piece of that sheet." It was bizarre to have so many living things moving around him, like he imagined it would feel to be dropped in an exhibit at the zoo. His stray possessions were piled at his feet, including the scraps of paper that used to be the instructions. One scrap was covered in green mucus. "I can work with this," he mumbled to himself. Arranging the pieces he read off of it out loud, the congregation shifting as if affirming the details made it to their crusty ears. He was back on track.

"Waka chakara," he heard some mumble, and looked up to find two puzzling over a pen he'd packed for note taking.

"Let me see that… Snoot." It's snout was larger than the others, so that might be its name. It seemed to agree and obeyed. He attempted to relay the information from the sheet once more. He got two steps in when he realized that unfortunately all attention was now on the object in Jim's hand. Experimentally Jim held it out, waving it slowly to the right and left. All eyes swayed with it, and bulged when he removed the cap. He shrugged to himself and drew a mustache under his nose and the goblins acted like they'd witnessed witchcraft. They each pushed at each other and pointed at his face in disbelief. If they were going to act like children, he would treat them like children. "I am king," Jim bellowed, exaggerating his voice. "You will do as I say!"

"Waka Chaka!" They agreed. He continued to read off instructions, this time exaggerating his voice and gestures. He did not lose their focus when communicating in this manner. Hyped for their mission, the one that called himself Fragwa stood up to its full height and saluted Jim, then turned around to jeer at his fellows, putting on a dramatic albeit brief show. They concurred, bouncing and cheering, and the swarm congealed and oozed through cracks and crevices and ultimately dissolved. Suddenly it was quiet. Apparently when goblins have the necessary resolve, they're very efficient. No wonder they were picked for the task.

Jim packed the rest of his possessions. The museum was creepy at night, he decided. After drifting casually among the odd displays of garments, tapestries, pottery and antique weapons, he finally found Nomura and Strickler unpacking boxes. Nomura sniffed the air before she looked up to see Strickler's charge watching them, and elbowed her comrade. His attention snapped from the stone he was examining. "Were you successful?"

"I hope so. We'll see if they bring back the right package."

"Excellent. We must be efficient with our time, however. You have additional duties." There was that voice, that voice he used just before handing out exams. Strickler parted with his work to guide Jim down a hall, stopping at a small door in a particularly barren hallway. It was revealed to be a broom closet. "Oh. The janitor duties. Is this how the museum affords to keep clean?"

"This is how we erase our tracks."

"Right. The changeling way: with a mop and bucket." Strickler spat off suggestions for how to mix the cleaning solution in the bucket. Jim wheeled it around to the back of the museum, the stuck wheel hissing down the hall, outs echo distorted by the placement of the displays. Once he was at the furthest room he halted. "WHAT IN THE WORLD IS THIS?!"

He heard Nomura cackle. His shoes squished in the green slime that pooled in the room. He stared at it, wondering where to begin, when it splashed in the center. His eyes wandered up. It was on the ceiling.

"How am I supposed to reach that?!"

"Not a trace," he heard Strickler echo. He extended the handle of the mop to the ceiling. Not even enough reach to touch, much less add elbow grease. Regretfully a glop slapped onto the handle. He heard Nomura approach, a collapsible step ladder in hand.

"Use this, Jareth."

"Thank you. And it's Jim." He unfolded the ladder with a clank.

"I'm calling you Jareth."

"I suppose that's better than Goblin King."

"Jareth is the Goblin King." She waited until her back was to him before sniggering. He exhaled in preparation and then climbed up the ladder to the goop. He welcomed the interruption of his phone going off in his pocket, informing him that he had a text.

**M** : Sorry to message back so late. Sleep well, kiddo.

Mom. He smiled and wrote her back.

**J:**  you too, mom


	6. Keeping Up (Dis)appearances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own TrollHunters. Tunafishprincess has been a phenomenal beta reader, and a huge motivator for this story getting published. Referenced works include the movie Labyrinth directed by Jim Henson, the book TrollHunters by Guillermo del Toro and Daniel Kraus, and the book The Adventure Begins by Richard Ashley Hamilton.

He pulled on his ears as he read. The Trollish text was really getting to him. The soft zags, the curves, the angles, remembering to place squares between the strokes, it was enough to make his eyes cross and his fingers hurt as he tried to memorize the differences between each of the characters. That was just the alphabet, and not even the words. Diving into the text was intimidating, especially if he wasn't going to have a native Troll- speaker explain it to him. At least he didn't have to concern himself with Señor Uhl, the unforgiving. Still, this task would have him pulling his hair out, but his ears were getting the brunt of the abuse. That's what they get for itching so much.

His phone went off. He checked, it was Mr. Strickler. "He-" he choked in answering. Ugh, his voice was cracking. Stupid troll puberty. "Hello?"

"Be ready to go by 5:30. I'm coming over right after school to take you to the gym."

"Alright, boss," he mocked Mr. Strickler's commanding tone. His teacher disconnected already. He was no nonsense; maybe that was how he spoke to the members of the order, as though his word were law and didn't need repeating. Jim shut his book, there was no way he could stare at those scribbles any longer. He rubbed his eyes and started stretching. Though he had hours to prepare he was getting restless being cooped up in the tiny apartment. Maybe he could go for a stroll in the sewers…. Nah. Mr. Strickler was taking him for training so he could survive whatever things were down there. Were there invisible creatures? Maybe that's why he didn't see anything last time? Or maybe troll form Strickler was that intimidating and scared them off.

As requested, Jim was waiting by the kitchen, perched on the barstool at the half wall while he engaged himself on his phone to pass the time, bouncing between conversations with Toby and Claire.

T: you should get tacos tomorrow. Then we could share tacos together across the country. Do they have tacos over there?

J: I'll make my own if I have to. Viva taco Tuesdays!

T: have you been talking to Claire?

J: I'm actually messaging her right now.

T: awesome sauce! I think she has stuff going on, she hasn't been making it to rehearsals.

J: really? Hope everything's okay.

C: have you made any friends?

J: sort of?

J: there's a group that's not from around here, they don't even speak English. They're kind of simple minded, but I actually started to learn their language, so everyone jokes about me being their king because I'm the only one they'll listen to.

Maybe he shouldn't have brought up the goblins, but it wasn't like he had classmates in his school in Washington DC to talk about.

C: that's hilarious!

C: Toby really misses you.

J: I've been texting him, too

C: I know, but he won't tell you how much he misses having you around, so I'm telling you.

He typed a response, the final tap missing the delete button that was originally intended.

J: and what about you?

Why did he send that. He wasn't supposed to hit send. He shouldn't have typed that at all. He tried to fix it, to ask if everything was okay with her since she'd missed rehearsal, despite the play being so important to her. Anything to change the subject. He couldn't type fast enough. His insides twisted at the "typing" indicator on her side of the chat.

C: I wish we could have gotten to know each other better before you had to go.

The sinking in his chest flipped around, leaving him feeling full of air.

J: me too.

C: do you think you'll come back to Arcadia some day?

J: I promised I was going to watch your play

C: :)

He sighed. He wanted to see her real smile. He missed seeing the light in her eyes. But if she saw him like this, dark demonic horns starting to curl behind his head, ears and nose chipping like some stony eczema, he imagined her chocolate eyes wide in a way he couldn't stand.

J: but what if

J: I wasn't the same person I was before I left.

C: we're all changing, Jim. We're growing, it's normal for us to change.

He blamed her optimism for his foolish hoping.

J: never change, Claire. You're perfect.

He resisted the urge to leap to his feet when the door opened. Though Mr. Strickler was the only one with the key and who knew his location, he still feared someday that he would be discovered. He knew in his bones now that he didn't quite belong in the "human" world anymore, and pretending made him anxious.

Mr. Strickler stepped in boldly. "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be." He pulled up his hood and followed his mentor to his car.

On the way, Mr. Strickler tried to prepare him for what to expect. "You'll be personally trained by Coach, after hours of course. When we can manage, you'll be going yourself."

"Through the sewers?"

"Precisely."

"Okay. Pretty neat I'll have my own 's his name? Coach…"

Strickler cleared his throat. "Due to the secrecy of our order, you won't know his name. He'll just be Coach to you."

"Okay…" Jim rest his head on a fist against the car door, eyes to the horizon as he spoke. The pinks in the sky were fading to purple, the normal life of humans laying itself to rest for the night, oblivious of the creepers that carried on with disregard to the laws of the humans. "Will it always be a secret? To me, I mean?"

"You have to earn membership, but I believe that you have the potential."

"You keep saying that. Potential. It's like saying maybe."

"The door is open to you, and you alone. But you must walk through it."

Jim knew straight away he did not like Coach. The gym was dark when they entered, a single harsh overhead light only making it more difficult to see, casting their crude shadows on the mats. If there were a chair, this would look very much like an interrogation scene in one of those shows Toby watched. A large, pale man with blonde buzz cut stood opposite to them, wide assertive stance and crossed arms placing emphasis on his bulging muscles. His voice even seemed cruel, like he was snarling his syllables. Jim hoped to never see this creatures troll form.

"This is it? This runt?" Jim wanted to pull the hood back up, especially when this creature had the audacity to yank at one of his horns. "Younger than a century, you say?"

"Indeed." Why was his mentor indifferent to his treatment?

"Are you sure he's one of us?"

"Are you questioning me?"

"I'm questioning his potential." Coach paid no heed to Mr. Strickler's increasing aggression. Was it an act? "He's a freak. Squishy like a flesh bag. Yet he still has the quirks of a monster. Can he even use those things without snapping his neck?" Jim's hand shot to the back of his neck, rubbing below the nape. His neck had actually bulged a bit from the increased weight on his head, but he understood that in their trollish forms changelings were made of stone. He started to understand why Strickler didn't say much in the car; Jim was being led to a butcher. "I'll be optimistic," Coach decided. "We'll test his mettle."

Jim was sent to the locker room, where a tall, masked man waited until after Jim changed into a set of black shorts and t-shirt to measure Jim's weight, height, blood pressure, temperate, and horn size. The tall man didn't say much, just enough to get the calculations he needed before sending Jim back to the gym.

How did I end up here?

"Ground me," Coach instructed through his mask. Jim wondered why his opponent would need headgear like the nurse/scientist, but none was provided for himself. A whistle blew, and Jim wavered momentarily before charging at his opponent the way he thought he had with Steve. Coach amused himself by standing unmoved momentarily before sweeping Jim's feet from beneath him with a side kick. Jim hit the mat with a smack. "C'mon, runt. Ground me." Jim humiliated himself by trying to side sweep Coach in the same manner from his position on the ground. If he was blindfolded, he would have thought Coach was in troll form, as solid and unmovable as a boulder. "Get up," he snarled. Jim did, and was shoved back. Again he stood, a little tired and feeling irritable with the monotony, but eager to prove himself. Coach forced an open palm in Jim's direction, which he dodged, but as if in punishment he forced Jim to the ground. He wasn't even sure how it happened that time. "GROUND ME," Coach bellowed. "A human could take you out at this rate! C'mon, freak, ground me!"

Jim was done. He could not roll this boulder, and he didn't understand why he was being insulted. Coach wasn't having it, though. In the second his trainer took a step to close the distance, Jim found his way on the floor again. He picked himself up enough to breath, propped on his elbows, but refused to keep playing this destructive game. "Life isn't a right in the real world. You gotta earn the privilege to live. Are you ready to die, freak?" His footsteps drew close again. Nope, not dying. Especially not to this monster. He scrambled to his feet and widened his stance to keep his balance, hoping that when the moment came there would be strength in his legs to carry him out of the way of the approaching brute, despite that even now he was involuntarily swaying. "I'll give him this much," Coach called out to the shadows to Mr. Strickler, "he's eager to be on his feet when death finds him." Jim eyed him warily as Coach casually strolled past him out of the ring of light, patting him on the shoulder with the force of a punch.

Mr. Strickler offered Jim a thermos when they met in the car. "What's this?"

"It's an elixir. Muscles naturally develop small tears as they're used. You don't want yours to petrify as your body transitions into living stone." Jim sipped the fluid suspiciously. It was like tea, but he couldn't recognize all the flavors. It could have been poisoned for as much as Jim trusted him at this point. As the car started moving he speculated occasionally if the car slowed down enough on turns or at lights for him to tuck and roll and still be okay.

"What was that, anyway? I'm pretty sure I almost died."

"But you didn't. You will see a new day, and you will get to try again."

"I have to go through that again?!"

"Changelings are not the strongest of creatures, and you particularly less so, no offense."

"Oh, I'm not offended. I'm just a flesh bag. A freak. A monster. When you told me I belonged to some other world-"

"What?" Mr. Strickler's tone was uncharacteristically stern. Perhaps it was his instinctual reaction to being challenged, but after becoming tenderized meat Jim felt intimidated and held his tongue. "Come on, out with it," his teacher encouraged more softly.

"I just expected… I guess I just hoped, that I could be something… more."

"Jim." Something in his tone commanded his eyes to turn to him. "You are living stone. I could give you a speech about being a diamond in the rough and mean it literally. You may think you are the only one going through a dark time, but the truth is that the world is descending into darkness as we speak. I am not trying to kill you, I am preparing you, so that when the Eternal Night begins you will have earned your place among the survivors. I'm sorry the world isn't full of fairies and unicorns like you dreamed. It's just not that era anymore."

"So there was a time…?"

Mr. Strickler chuckled. "Long before you, but yes."

Jim meditated on this predicament he found himself in. Eternal Night? Was his teacher being poetic or was he foreshadowing an actual apocalypse? Mr. Strickler could never be taken at face value. It was as though everything he said could be interpreted in multiple different ways, each of which might actually be true.

He sensed the fatigue most sharply when they pulled up to the museum. "I'm still on goblin duty?"

"You guessed it. You can't fool me, I know you're more resilient than you give yourself credit for. Every night you'll be going to the gym, make sure you're there by six, and every night you'll stop by the museum on your way home to clean."

"You're not taking me?" Something inside him died a little. Perhaps it was the hope of survival.

"Coach is not going to kill you just because I'm not there to supervise. He'll keep me posted on your progress. I still need to run some errands, so head on in now."

"How am I getting to the gym? Through the sewers?"

"Oh, right. Yes, you'll just stick to the roads, there's an industrial drain near the shower rooms, it's removable."

"Got it."

He was grateful for his dark vision. He couldn't imagine how creepy the museum would be if he couldn't see what caused the craggly, looming shadows in the light cast by the neighboring buildings. Don't be afraid, he commanded himself. Don't want to be ended by goblins, of all things. He felt like he was being watched...

Suddenly a tall rocky form Toby would have recognized as being comprised of raspberry rhodonite cornered him with glow stick green eyes piercing through him, hot- metal orange blades brandished and framing his face. Jim admittedly leapt in the air with a scream, the stony visage in front of him hissing in a sinister laugh. In a second he recognized the green eyes from before, and in irritability snarled in defiance. "Nomura! Please don't try to scare me in front of the goblins, I'm trying not to get eaten." Perhaps it was the way Mr. Strickler spoke to Nomura that emboldened him to use the tone he did, or perhaps changelings were just pissing him off at this point.

Were he not under Strickler's charge she would have straightened him out. He didn't know where he was on the pecking order, but she wasn't going to risk falling out of Strickler's favor, so instead she permitted herself to scoff. "Just keeping you on your guard, Goblin King." She swayed in a serpentine manner and sheathed her blades.

Indeed, goblins had awoken not to the sound but to the scent that had briefly wafted to them from their roost, and their frenzied chatter closed in around them. She watched as Jim tried to rein in the goblins again, which swarmed around him grunting and groaning in their bizarre tongue. Did she know better, or was he directly answering their babbling? "If you consume me, who's going to bring you guys snacks? No one, so back up." Jim pulled out a grocery bag from his satchel and divvied the trash among them. She puzzled as to why he pulled the erasers off of a handful of pencils to chuck at one goblin and handed the remains to another.

"What are you doing?" The once ominous pink troll didn't know what to do with herself besides gawk.

"Snoot likes the erasers. Eyebrows likes pencils. Mutton Chops likes hot sauce packets…" he tossed out more miscellaneous things the goblins cheered over and immediately consumed as he listed the contents of the bag.

"You named them?"

"No, they named themselves."

"How do you know their names?"

"They told me." He tossed a crumpled napkin at the blueish one with the clipped left ear and chewed gum in foil to the pale goblin.

"And you understood them?"

"Sort of, I'm still getting used to their language. It's really simple, mostly nouns and verbs. I guessed some of them, they name themselves over funny things."

Nomura crossed her arms and watched him disperse the rest of the contents and then the bag itself. She pointed at the one toying with the Reeses cups papers. "I know that one's Fragwa."

"His name actually translates to Frogger. They say he got that name because he hops around like an angry frog."

"You really are the Goblin King."

"Telling them that got them to listen. Thanks for the idea." She rolled her eyes, regretting her contribution to his confidence. This was her museum. She was queen. If her contribution to the Order lessened in value at all, her position, as well as her life, was at risk. So why did she have to babysit this mutant? She isolated herself with her work once more, bored with the newcomer.

When he heard the music playing softly from the direction of Nomura's work station, he grunted from his throat momentarily to aid with his pronunciations. He began instructing the goblins about the details of their mission that night in their language. They weren't very kind when he used the wrong words, and he was getting to be fluent with goblin insults because of it, but when he did speak correctly there was a graven severity among them that earned him their respect.

He came to realize through their gossip that there was a strange alliance between the goblins, the changelings, and an entity the goblins referred to as Black or Boss, roughly. The goblins didn't really understand hierarchy, which was the reason why it was so easy for Jim to persuade them that he was in charge. When he wasn't around, he realized Fragwa was the one in command, since they didn't really have a "next" in command. Because of this, the goblins had simple needs and once that was met, they didn't really care about much else. Working with Black meant survival, and that was their concern. Otherwise they knew more about what the Order was working on but didn't care or find it important, so Jim could try to pry but still didn't get very useful information. So far he understood that the changelings used very specific stone for building, that whatever structure they were building was not ideal for residing, and that it was coming from somewhere very specific but not close enough for the goblins to care what the place was called. After they scattered into the night, he turned his attention to cleaning their awful slime in the storage closet once more, the sounds of the goop sloshing and Nomura's crackling orchestral soundtrack on the record player filling the silence. He kept his hood up as he worked since there was a narrow window, and occasionally caught himself glancing outside, realizing how little he appreciated his free reign when he had been human.

Nomura dropped him off at the apartment. The car ride had been silent except for a musical soundtrack Jim wasn't familiar with. Remembering that Strickler mentioned that all changelings were centuries old, he speculated about what era the musical was from.

Back at the apartment he hung up his satchel and cloak in the bedroom closet where he kept his blue jacket. He used to like the security and style of wearing his jacket even when he was inside, but his body temperature seemed to be higher than usual, though he wasn't feverish. He lay awake in bed until after six am and sent a message to Toby. Toby's responses were sparing, since he was getting ready for school.

J: Morning Tobes. What time are we doing tacos?

T: 5:30 pm here, what time will it be there?

J: 8:30. I'll make it work.

T: I'll call you.

J: I'll tell you about my new job.

T: you're working? Isn't that child labor?

J: it's just cleaning, in return for room and board.

He dropped his phone onto his chest. Despite the workout wearing him thin, there was an idea that kept him alert. Did he have the courage/ audacity? Maybe nothing would come of it anyway, so there was no harm in it…

J: good morning :)

Alright, he did it. Now time to sleep. Except now he was too giddy and hopeful and doubtful and the angel and devil on his shoulders were chewing him out. They were silenced by his phone beeping.

C: Morning! How are things on the flip side?

Was she hanging out with Toby during rehearsals? That was such a Toby response. He smiled. It was nice to know his friends were getting along, and imagining Claire with Toby's mannerisms was endearing.

J: I got a job to cover room and board.

C: that's great! What do you do?

Of course she would ask that. Who wouldn't ask that. How stupid for him to bring it up. Having a job is cool, being a janitor is not.

J: I'm a janitor. :P

C: that's really the most important job in a hospital. Don't tell your mom I said that. ;)

He stopped, stunned by her perspective. A dirty hospital would be dangerous, actually. He suddenly felt a pang at the memory of his mother, the smell of the sanitizing agents that filled the memories of his youth came back to him.

J: do you know how to not be amazing?

C: nope.

He smiled somberly and returned to his chat with his mom to send a "good morning". Their conversation consisted mostly of short messages from Jim occasionally interrupted with his mom's sentiments. He missed her hugs. He felt incomplete when he didn't have to make healthy meals for her, like he was constantly forgetting something. Not that he ever had to, but cooking was a form of meditation for him, and with no one to cook for but himself he was getting lazy and at the same time found pockets of inactivity he tried to fill with more studying.

J: Tobes I need a favor.

T: whaddup Jimbo

J: can you get my mom flowers?

T: what's the occasion?

J: I know she's depressed. Flowers make her feel better.

T: should I get a card too? What do you want me to write?

J: I don't know, I'm not good at these things. Is love you mom okay?

T: why not?

T: how's school?

J: history teacher is exactly the same. Coach is almost the same.

T: anyone like Sr Uhl?

J: learning languages is more self driven here.

Toby stopped responding and Jim glanced at the time. He was probably getting ready to ride to school now. Jim was suddenly struck with the idea of ambushing him at the canals. But that would make Toby late, and would he be able to calmly return to the monotony of school when he knew Jim was growing horns and hiding in Arcadia? Bad idea. But he toyed with it as his eyes closed and he left for the dream world.


	7. The Looking Glass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own TrollHunters. Tunafishprincess has been a phenomenal beta reader, and a huge motivator for this story getting published. Referenced works include the movie Labyrinth directed by Jim Henson, the book TrollHunters by Guillermo del Toro and Daniel Kraus, and the book The Adventure Begins by Richard Ashley Hamilton.

"Atlas, I brought company," Mr. Strickler announced as he opened the door.

Thunk.

"What in Athena's name are you doing?!"

A kitchen knife had sprung from the wall adjacent to the front door and spun in the air before clattering onto the floor across the room. Jim shrugged sheepishly from the kitchen. "I figured if you could have a dagger cloak, and Nomura gets a pair of sickles, I should get a cool weapon, too. So I was practicing... and I was bored."

"You shouldn't be bored if you're doing the work you were assigned. And they're khopesh, not sickles." Mr. Strickler discovered a cutting board that was propped against the wall on the counter. It was evident from the damage on the wood that Jim didn't know what he was doing as far as proper knife throwing, for instance using the wrong kind of knife in the first place.

"Besides, I bring you something better than blades."

"More knowledge?" Jim groaned and rolled his eyes.

"Eyes."

Nomura followed him in, cradling a small wooden crate. With all the otherworldly things these two introduced him to, he was afraid it was going to be a real eye. The curator tenderly set the box on the countertop with the same caution she used when handling artifacts at the museum. "It's the box that's frail. Lead." She opened the wood box and lifted a metallic lid to reveal a single clear orb. It was smaller than the crystal balls used by psychics, maybe a little bigger than a tennis ball.

"A crystal ball?"

Nomura scoffed. "A Looking Glass," she corrected. She took it from the crate and made fancy work with her hands, rolling her arms underneath it while the orb remained suspended in place. It was possible it never lost contact with her skin, but the illusion could convince one that it was fixed solidly in the air. "Look into it."

He leaned forward, expecting to see a flipped image of the world in front of him, but instead of an upside down museum curator he saw himself from behind stooped down to stare at the mysterious object. She rolled her arms around beneath it again and it appeared as though he were watching a spherical TV taking a tour through the apartment complex. She held its position in one of her hands while with the other she reached into the box on the counter. There was a secret compartment (when one deals with changelings, there is always a secret compartment) that sheltered a pair of wire- rimmed glasses. "Put these on." He obeyed and looked into the glass again. "No, look that way." He turned in the direction she gestured and was surprised to find a pale orb hovering in the doorway of his room. It moved in a linear direction away from the door and he turned back to Nomura, realizing that as she moved her arms under the glass orb, it directed the other. He turned his attention back to the floating sphere and looked above the glasses. Nothing. It was completely invisible without the aid of the lenses. "Silver reveals the true nature of certain things," she explained. She ended the illusion and packed it back into the velvet lined lead box. "Sturdy little thing, but to avoid being scryed you'll want to keep it in the lead box. Which, again, is fragile. Keep it in the crate." She offered the package to him.

He measured the weight of it in his hands. "So my cool weapon is glasses."

"If anyone asks, yes to the glasses," she retorted. "Do not reveal that you have a Looking Glass. You're hard enough to trust as it is."

Strickler interjected, "she is not referring to herself. It may take some time for the other changelings to warm up to you. You're one of a kind, as far as we are aware."

"Yet you said this was the world where I belonged."

"In due time, your position in this world will be made clear. Keep in mind we've hidden from humans for centuries, one does not simply cross the gate of millennia." He lay a reassuring hand on Jim's shoulders, but visibly it had little effect. "Nomura, I'll meet you in the car," he instructed. When the two of them were alone he spoke openly. "Young Atlas, I'm trying to protect you. This is not just a dangerous world, but a dangerous time. You can trust no one but yourself. I will do everything in my power to make you indispensable to the Order, but it will take time and it will take your cooperation. Master the Looking Glass, for with it you can more safely explore the world."

It was as though he was still speaking in code, the way Toby described. "What's going on, Strickler. Why couldn't you talk to me like this in front of Nomura? What are you hiding?" He forced Mr. Strickler's hand off his shoulder, glaring warily.

"When the time comes that I can speak freely, I will. As it stands, the more you know, the greater a risk we are all in. Take the day off, from the gym, the goblins, your studies, and play with your new toy. Get to know it. Name it, if that helps you." Jim tried to look into those eyes. Were they kind eyes? Was that part of the illusion? What did they see in him?

"Sure," he grumbled. Mr. Strickler locked the door after him, the click of the chamber amplified due to the emptiness of the apartment. Is this how the hunchback of Notre Dame felt being locked away in a tower?

As cynical as Jim behaved about the ancient volumes, he knew there was power in them. He just refused to admit it in earshot of Mr. Strickler. There was a changeling book with fascinating illustrations that he withdrew from the others. He knew it was changeling because unlike the ones written by trolls, it was written in English using the Trollish alphabet, which he was getting the hang of. Since magical artifacts could go by many names, the guide didn't list them alphabetically, and Jim hadn't figured out how they were sorted, so old fashioned page flipping was a must. He mostly had to eyeball the pictures, sifting through amulets, armors, swords, stones, and eventually he found a simple illustration of circles devoid of colors. He read the text, slowly sounding out the syllables as he transcribed it in his mind. This was it! And indeed, the guide agreed that this was a wondrous item, hence the deceptively simple artwork (because changelings always depended on deceptive appearances). According to the text, suspending the sphere in a singular location in the material plane while spinning it gave traction to a duplicate sphere originating from the same point that could traverse another plane, the duplicate referred to as a Scout. He held out the sphere in his hand and thought about it. Nomura rolled it on her arms, giving it the spin while it looked like it was holding still. That's why the one he could only see with the glasses, the Scout, was able to move. It was rolling like the Looking Glass but wasn't affected by matter in the same way, explaining why it didn't drop with gravity or cast a shadow. He balanced it on the back of his hand. Got that part down. He moved his hand to get it to roll, and roll it did, right onto the table and then dropped on the floor. He leapt after it, his heart halting at the thunk of glass on the hard surface. /Take a day off,/ Mr. Strickler said. This was not a break, this was another chore, one more tedious than helping the goblins brush their teeth. (They were very particular about oral hygiene, since a toothless goblin was a dead goblin.) He sat on the floor. Even if Nomura said it wasn't that frail, he couldn't in his right mind not dread dropping it. He experimented with rolling it on his palm while suspending it in the "material plane". Rolling from near the wrist to the base of his fingers wasn't that hard, since he was accustomed to balancing knives in his hands. Getting the thing to be still while moving under it? A whole other challenge. After several thunks and not a glimmer of progress, he changed direction. "Let's see if this thing can run videos." He kneeled up to the desk and switched on the ancient brick of a computer. To his surprise, it clicked on, fully loaded in an instant. He learned quickly through searching the internet that the skill he was looking for was called contact juggling, and that this device ran videos smoothly without buffering. What kind of internet speed did Mr. Strickler get for him?!

He learned about the trick called isolation. If he could master that, his Looking Glass would have something in common with him. He used four fingers to roll it, switching between the middle fingers and thumbs of each hand, bracing its position with the rest of his fingers, moving his hands like jellyfish or something like that. Okay, that wasn't so bad. He kept it rolling, trying harder to keep it from moving in position. As he studied it, his attention was caught by the image in the glass, a mini reflection of himself holding the orb, and not from the perspective of the orb itself. Careful not to move it, he straightened his posture to look above it through the glasses. There it was! "Hey, Scout! Welcome to the world!" The flat disk said nothing, and did nothing, awaiting the instructions at Jim's fingertips. "Come to Papa," he cooed, twirling the glass in his hands in the opposite direction. It rolled to him, a translucent circle with no depth, and faltered, quivering before dissolving from visibility. "Aw, Scout. Come back." In his enthusiasm he must have moved the Looking Glass from its point. Trying again, however, was fruitful and rewarding. Though he kept his hands all over it, obstructing his view, he eagerly kept at it, playing with the Scout to direct it, eventually discovering how to get the Scout to raise elevation and repeatedly rolling it into walls. There were some things it couldn't pass through. It halted at some of the metal pipes in the walls, though it could go through the walls themselves, which he discovered by accidentally spinning it the wrong direction. It didn't like to go into the ground, but made for a really neat perspective as it traversed the floor, showing Jim what the underside of his bed looked like.

Curiously, Jim rolled it into the closet. He could see the closet in the Looking Glass, the Scout on the other side of the door. "Now for the real test." He rolled it through the back wall. Fortunately changeling doors were not solid metal. He tried to roll it down the ladder, accidentally bumping Scout against the walls but eventually rolling Scout down the surface of the stones. Finally it was low enough to be at about Mr. Strickler's eye level in the sewers. "Let's see if I remember how to get to the museum." He cranked at the Looking Glass, projecting the Scout into the tunnels. "This isn't so bad. It's like, life-size pinball. Yeah. Now, which way?" Scout was in front of the graffiti of the masks. "I'm pretty sure the museum is to the right, but… since I'm not down there, I can check out what's to the left. I'm just practicing with my magic crystal ball." This was better than exploring the Earth on the internet. This was in real time, and in places cameras couldn't go, and he had total control. It just took a lot of work playing with a ball in the air. He smiled to himself when he noticed in the glass a shape moving down the tunnel. There was something to look at down here! "What are you," he asked through the crystal. He stopped rolling it when it was clear in the view that it was lumbering towards the Scout. It was hard to see, not because it was dark since Jim could see in the dark, but because the object itself lacked color. It was bulky, filling out the tunnel with its form. As it drew closer, Jim could see its limbs. Its arms were larger around than Jim's body. It's posture was slouched from its own weight like a gorilla, the outline of its head broadened by two sets of horns, a pair of massive stone swords protruding from its back. Its details became visible as it drew closer, large sharp teeth protruding from its mouth. As he stared, it looked at Jim with glowing red and yellow eyes and snarled.

Thunk. He'd instinctively crawled two feet away from the sphere, clutching his chest. He tasted blood in his mouth. For a second it was as though those murderous eyes found him and were going to eat him. Was that a troll? He would have otherwise celebrated finally seeing his first true troll, but it seemed to haunt him more than anything. He went to the bathroom to see in the mirror how badly he bit his lip for it to be bleeding like this. He usually didn't bother turning the light on anymore since he didn't need to, but because of the doubt in what he saw he switched it on. He had punctured his lip with his own recently enlarged canines. He tapped the points with a fingertip, recognizing the ache in his gums he'd tried to ignore. He was a hybrid that included the race of that monster he saw downstairs. Another thing concerned him. He swished a mouthful of water and checked the time on his phone. It was already getting late in the evening, he had to warn Strickler before he went to the museum. He called. His call was rejected. Typical. He typed madly into his phone, hoping he wasn't too late.

**J** : there's something headed to the museum through the sewers!

**J** : it's big and black and has horns and swords. It looks like one of the trolls in the books.

_Please answer your phone. Please don't be troll chow…_  Mr. Strickler started typing a response. He wasn't dead!

**S** : did he see you?

**J** : no

**S** : go home.

**J** : what about you? And Nomura?

**S** : we have a meeting. Go home.

Jim scoffed. Stupid, over confident changeling teacher. He better not die. Jim shuddered at the thought of his only shelter, only guardian, being crushed to green goop like a goblin under those massive, stony paws, leaving Jim in limbo between worlds. Nomura had been helpful at times, but she had made it clear that she could never be trusted to help shoulder Strickler's burden of caring for Jim. She could easily be the one to finish Jim off, honestly.

Meanwhile more thoughts came at him, questions he hoped he could answer himself. There was a history book with dark, almost monochrome pictures of creatures through the ages. Knowing the horns were the identifying trait that demonstrated familial relations for trolls, he scoured the pages at the end. He found it, and sounded out the name. "Bular," he read. The rest of his official title was in troll, so he didn't know what deeds Bular had a reputation for, but the trolls in this book ate humans, he knew that much. Would it be cannibalism for them to eat changelings? Would they care? What about a hybrid?

After the conversation Strickler had with him earlier riddled with secrets and this too- paternal response about risk of death, Jim wasn't too keen on obeying him. He donned the cloak, and fit the lead box gingerly into his satchel, still kept it in its wooden crate to brace it. He had never been so grateful to reek of goblin before now. Hopefully it was enough to disguise his scent around a troll. He deduced trolls probably didn't want to bother with goblins just because of the hassle of being on their vengeance list. He dashed ahead on light feet to the turn near the graffiti of the masks and decided it was a good place to start sending Scout. Maybe someday he could move the thing faster than he could walk and not break it, but for now while his life was on the line, taking time to scope ahead was vital. The path all the way to the museum was clear, so either big guy went a different route or actually surfaced. He tried not to shudder at the mental image of that kind of brute stumbling upon innocent humans; it was vital that he not drop the Looking Glass while down here.

How the troll would get up there, he didn't know. Was there a manhole or grate large enough? Did he burrow through like a fox sneaking into a henhouse? Jim found a crevice large enough for Scout to go through, though it took a lot of time and wiggling the silly thing just right to roll in alignment of the opening and then up. He raised it high enough to be at Strickler's eye level and sent it to the blocked off section adjacent to the medieval exhibit, where he always found Strickler and Nomura unpacking stones. He found Mr. Strickler in his human form, apparently speaking to the brute. Okay, so man- eating monster was an ally? Maybe he was reformed.

Oh crap. A light shone off of the two figures and Jim spun Scout to face the other way. Security?! They let themselves get discovered by security?! Why was the guy there at all? Nomura must not have made him tea this time. Where was she, did she get eaten? Moving forward- troll and changeling were discovered by a human. The guard ran down the hall, and Jim wheeled Scout around in place to see how Mr. Strickler handled it. He was surprised that Mr. Strickler's expressions were indifferent, much like the way he behaved at Coach's mocking of Jim, turning that stupid apple in his hand as he talked to Bular. Shame he couldn't read lips, but that smirk on the troll's face in response to what Mr. Strickler said was unmistakable.

_No, no, no-_

He didn't know what he thought he was going to do, but he sped Scout to the guard. Sound didn't carry through the Looking Glass nor could he ram it into anything on the material plane to distract the troll, but he couldn't stop himself from searching for the guard in desperate hope to warn him. He found him, the instant Bular caught up to his prey, and the snarl echoed through the chambers of the sewers, followed by the splat from the contents of Jim's stomach on the wet cement.


	8. Expeditions for Development

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own TrollHunters. Tunafishprincess has been a phenomenal beta reader, and a huge motivator for this story getting published. Referenced works include the movie Labyrinth directed by Jim Henson, the book TrollHunters by Guillermo del Toro and Daniel Kraus, and the book The Adventure Begins by Richard Ashley Hamilton.

The masked ones surrounded Jim. It felt like he was under water, his limbs slower than he needed to be to dodge their swings and jump their kicks. Their black garb disguised their distorted shapes and the number of their limbs that lunged at him. His responses were instinctual at this point. He'd learned their movements, how to anticipate their actions. However in this place they seemed to switch, this person in the mask could do the moves that person in the mask could do and caught him off guard. He was surrounded by changing circumstances he had no control over and he was losing. They pinned him to the mat and the largest one prepare the fatal blow with a downward kick to the neck just below the base of his skull.

•••

He gasped for breath. He was awake now. He couldn't remember the last time he slept a full night. He sat up and rubbed away the grogginess from his face and from his mind. He couldn't bring himself to lay back down, knowing those creatures were waiting to slay him, to crush him with the force they slapped him onto the mat with. Instead he reached for his Looking Glass, which at this point he habitually kept on the nightstand. He rolled its cold weight over the backs of his hands and wrists, the sensation forcing away the warm slaps from his dreams. He was getting the hang of it enough that he didn't need the glasses for the most part to see where Scout went, but the cool metal resting on the bridge of his nose was a reassuring reminder of reality that kept his thoughts from drifting back to the arena. He experimented with its balance and his coordination, doing other tricks besides isolation. When he toyed with it enough he determined he was sufficiently alert to face the day. He donned a set of clothes and his cloak and packed in his satchel the Looking Glass and an apple for breakfast.

He closed the closet door after himself and descended into the wet air of the tunnels. Seeing the legendary Bular the Vicious motivated him to be thorough in checking corners by sending the Scout ahead. He followed familiar paths, recognizing the streets and how far down he had to tread before each turn and by this time memorized the crevices where he could hide his body with enough elbow room to maneuver his glass.

He was approaching the canals. Many thoughts crossed his mind here. It was familiar, as physically and emotionally close to home as he could be and still could not call it home; his stomping grounds. It was the setting for adventures he had with Toby, simple expeditions in space that consisted of fewer dangers than what lurked in the sewers. It was part of the setting of his youth and subsequently the setting for dreams he used to have, more pleasant than the ones he'd been having as of late. He tried to tell himself the canals were merely a location that coincided with his establishments. It was simply a landmark he had to cross without detection, hours before his best friend may traverse on his way to school. Perhaps if he was willing to try harder he could find a better location to train. For now, this seemed to suit him. He squeezed through the grate, and the cool fresh air greeted him, taking from him the smells of underground that clung to his clothing. The Scout revealed that the coast was clear, and swiftly he dashed across the canal and into the tree line. Once secured in the darkness, he leapt up into the branches of a nearby tree and sent out the Scout to ensure there were no witnesses and to scope out the terrain.

Each night for a few hours he would have to go to the gym only for his numerous sparring partners (there seemed to be more each time, and they might be different each night but the masks prevented certainty) to rattle him by the horns and throw him to the ground. He'd walk it off when he went to the museum through the sewers, take care of the goblins, and walk himself home. Awaiting him were always those awful nightmares, and the next time he went to the gym he was more certain he wouldn't walk out.

So he ran from his fears. The trees in the forest were large enough to support his weight on their branches. Nothing cleared his mind like parkour in the trees. He knew he was quick on his legs and comparatively small, and exploited his strengths and practiced his balance up here. It was supplemental training to help him survive gym, and he told himself that this speed he developed would carry into the dreams as well.

Next came the hard part. Once he was worn and ready to consider laying down for another hour after a shower, he had to disappear from the surface before sunrise. Remaining hidden was not physically difficult, but he struggled with his will. Toby would be this way in a bit, be it through the canals or the bridge. How wrong would it be to say hi? What was so bad if the only one who knew was his best friend? He trusted Toby. Toby would understand about his horns and stuff. But Toby also had to see Mr. Strickler everyday. "Don't trust anyone," Mr. S warned. One slip on Toby's part and he would know Jim went against his orders. He thought about the changelings that beat him up for training, and there were some scary things about them he read in the books he was not eager to experience. He trusted Toby, completely, but he didn't trust that telling his friend would not come with repercussions. Someday he'd come clean, when lives didn't hang on the line like Mr. Strickler kept warning.

•••

It was the day before the field trip. Jim was picking up on troll from eavesdropping on Nomura and Strickler, ironically the opposite of Strickler's intentions. Since Strickler spoke so much about school and plans, it wasn't hard to pick up on the repeated words. The goblins were gossips, too, and Jim was picking up more about the combined plans of the trolls and changelings from them. At least, in regards to the details goblins cared about, which wasn't much. They thought boss kid was funny when he was mad.  _Big black rock question,_  Jim asked them to clarify. They laughed in response. Yeah, definitely Bular. Then he chewed Batty out for hanging from the fluorescent lights again. He didn't want to clean a combination of broken glass and goblin mucus. Those tricksters were a handful at times. Once, Jim had to confiscate a simple blade that must have come off of Strickler's cloak. There were numerous other surprises he'd discovered in their slime, which he would add to the museum's lost and found if it could be cleaned easily enough, or else they would find their way in the garbage.

Later in the day Strickler stopped by. After witnessing the slaughter of the security guard, Jim struggled to look at Strickler the same way, not wanting to acknowledge his position above him as mentor by adding the title "mister", and he certainly couldn't call him Walter (ugh, too friendly). But Strickler was exactly the same mentor in demeanor, bringing over ingredients for the elixir and groceries for Jim's culinary taste, as well as books he thought would be of benefit for Jim's education.

"Geology?" Jim read the cover from where he sat at the edge of the bed, casually wearing the glasses.

"You're getting the hang of troll, excellent. And changeling as well," he commented when he glanced the scribbled notepad where Jim practiced the alphabet by transcribing the lines of a play. "You're a fan of Shakespeare?"

"Of course, he's my favorite," he lied. For now he needed to be in Strickler's good graces. "Pretty cool that the school's going to have that play, right? Such a classic!"

"Jim," Strickler prepared, his affectionate tone swapped out for his instructor voice. Crap, he was onto him.

"There's got to be a potion or something, right? An amulet? A totem? Something that will let me shape shift like a changeling? Wouldn't it be easier for a hybrid?" Strickler turned from the books back to Jim, but averted his gaze when he saw Jim's pupils constrict into slits. His eyes were down cast, causing Jim to keep reaching. "I promised Claire I'd come see it. Can't I try, like, one round from the trial? I read about it, the first round won't kill me, right? And what if being part human-"

"Where did you read about the trials?" Strickler immediately stooped and brushed a finger over the binds of the books already shelved.

"It was in the history book, um..." Jim squinted with his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, forcing the trollish title between his lips and teeth. "Ga-huel."

"Ah, a very abridged summary of the process. You have no idea how fatal it is, and being descended from a human is not an advantage in this scenario." Strickler held the book in the crook of his arm to take back with him and watched his discouraged apprentice. Jim held his arms together, chin down as he looked past his desk. "If you want to see the play, I can arrange something-" Jim's eyes lit up and turned full force to his teacher. "I can have the play recorded for you. You won't miss a thing."

"I miss my friends." Claire counted as a friend now, right? Heck, he even missed Eli at this point, as well as any other familiar face. And Toby was playing in it.

Strickler sighed. "I understand, young Atlas. Not all hope is lost. If you read about the trial, I'm sure you must have read about polymorphs."

"I think it was briefly mentioned. It didn't say much."

"I suppose there isn't much to say. They used to be something of a default. They were the original, true changelings, no trials, no familiars. And the trait is genetic."

Jim puzzled over this new knowledge. "You think I might-"

"Even the word hopeless is not devoid of hope." Strickler pat Jim on the shoulder, a touch that caused Jim's stomach to churn. "Study up, young Atlas. It's beginning to pay off already."

When the lock turned, Jim sighed heavily, hoping to exhale the pit in his stomach. Is this what it felt like to be a changeling, pretending things are normal with the people closest to you, even when you no longer trust them? He put away the glasses. He tried to be subtle about them, but he'd come to depend on that Looking Glass and made sure it's only vulnerability remained on his person when Strickler was nearby. He wouldn't put it past his perceptive teacher to pocket the lenses if he found them lying around, to catch Jim spying on him later. Specifically at the field trip, when Strickler wouldn't be able to check by at the apartment to ensure Jim wasn't out exploring.

•••

From his dark alcove, he chuckled softly to himself, proud of his skill for contact juggling. He was getting pretty good, slipping the Scout through a crevice leading outside near the museum and wheeling it around until he found the class gathered with the changelings at the entrance. Somehow it surprised him how casual everyone was when faced with the creatures, so utterly deceived. Changelings were really good at hiding in plain sight. How hilarious, Nomura's spiel was putting the class to sleep. He couldn't read lips or hear her speech, but it played like a loop in his head. She tried educating him on the value of pottery once when she took it upon herself to supplement Strickler's teachings. This time Strickler interrupted her to Jim's amusement. He wasn't sure what Strickler said, but the class liked it and scattered. He followed the class, noticing the group of girls, Claire taking the lead, Mary somehow keeping up while maintaining probably three conversations in text. Darci rolled her eyes when Claire stopped in front of the case that displayed the medieval gowns. Darci's expressions showed she found Claire endearing but boring, and she departed to look at the other items on exhibit. Mary wandered behind her, tapping away on her phone without looking up. To his dismay, Steve pulled up beside her. Could Steve not try to fill in Jim's place in his absence? And of course Claire would be cordial. That quality she had that allowed her to see the best in everyone would work as well for Steve as for Jim, wouldn't it. But to his relief, Toby came up and discreetly said something to Steve without Claire perceiving it. In the moment Claire glanced at Toby, Toby pointed finger guns and she smiled, and resumed gazing at the embroidery.

Jim smiled to himself. It was almost as if Toby was still his wingman, even if Toby had no idea Jim was just below them in the sewers. This was going to be fun. He pulled out his phone, keeping the Looking Glass suspended with one hand.

Claire continued to stare dreamily at the gown as she took her phone from her purse. Eventually she glanced at the screen and immediately her hand flew to her mouth. Jim roared with laughter, causing the Scout to shimmer dangerously as the Looking Glass quivered. He regained his composure, cheeks hurting from smiling so wide.

**J** : what kind of costumes are they using for the play? Anything as cool as the dresses at the museum?

**C** : how did you know?!

**J** : Toby said the class had a field trip

Claire's expressions relaxed at the response, her hand brushing back a strand of hair before she typed a response.

**C** : with the school's budget, I'll be performing in my bathrobe.

**J** : you could pull it off.

He glanced between his phone and the Looking Glass. He would probably never be this bold face to face, but he loved seeing her face, the way her eyes lit up at his texts, how lost in her head she was when she stared at that gown and saw herself in it. She touched a finger to her lip and he sighed. Why was he torturing himself like this? While he waited for her response he wheeled Scout over to Toby, who he found was gathering with a small crowd down the hall, oddly with Eli at the center.

Eli was brandishing his phone, the other students looking with skepticism. When Toby grabbed hold of the phone, Scout caught a visual of the image, a green splat with skinny little limbs.  _Fragwa!_  To his surprise, Toby deleted the picture before handing the phone back to Eli, wiggling his fingers in feigned regret. The Scout trailed after Toby, back over to Claire. Toby said something, and Claire smacked a palm to her forehead. Jim frowned in confusion, before his eyes were drawn to something else.

Now that he could see the museum in the day time, his eyes caught a colorful tapestry on the wall opposite the gowns. The small tapestry down the hall he recognized from the history book of the changelings, but this one, though it wasn't the same, reminded him of another story. He didn't remember which, there were a few bridges in lore, but the special ones didn't cross water, and neither did this one. Above it was darkness, with a sliver of a crescent in the moon, as if undergoing an eclipse, and below it was a glowing woman with the sun shining brilliantly behind her. It must have taken amazing skill to give the illusion that the stars, sun, moon, and woman were actually glowing brighter than the rest of the fabric. On either side of the woman were tremendous beasts, larger and more gnarly than trolls and wearing armor, and below each a knight in blue and a knight in red, each on horses and facing the woman. It meant something, he knew that much, but did it have anything to do with the roped off area on the other side of that same wall where Nomura and Strickler were building something?

**J** : Tobes, can you do me a favor?

**T** : sup Jimbo

**J** : Claire told me you guys were at the museum. There's a tapestry in the medieval exhibit, can you send me a pic?

**T** : tapestry?

**J** : the big blanket on the wall with the knights and the bridge and the woman and monsters

**J** : and if there's a plaque, send me that too

**T** : I can't find a plaque. Is this for history class?

**J** : exactly. Thanks Tobes

Jim watched Toby oblige and turn to Claire, who shrugged at something he said. Maybe Jim could find the tapestry in a book later. With daylight shining, he could get answers, maybe. He rolled Scout through the sheets in the closed off exhibit to find a mound covered in more sheets. He'd glimpsed it before, but changelings hid their secrets in the open. There were troll markings on the little of the stone that was exposed. There seemed to be part of a name, "Gun" something. Not like a weapon, but still destructive, he couldn't be sure until more pieces were added.

Wait, Strickler took the Ga-huel. Did he hit a dead end? Did Strickler take it to hide something from him?

He hadn't expected to have more questions. At least some of them were specific now. It would be hours before school ended, but shortly after he had gym again. Through the glass once more he examined the woman in the tapestry. Was that the light clad one the goblins kept gossiping about? Maybe she was reincarnated- does that happen? He hadn't read anything about reincarnation, but he didn't know the word in Troll, so that didn't mean much. Finally he departed, constructing a plan for how to navigate the books for any related information on bridges and the Light Clad One.


	9. The Serpentine Substitute

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own TrollHunters. Tunafishprincess has been a phenomenal beta reader, and a huge motivator for this story getting published. Referenced works include the movie Labyrinth directed by Jim Henson, the book TrollHunters by Guillermo del Toro and Daniel Kraus, and the book The Adventure Begins by Richard Ashley Hamilton.

Curious about the elixir Strickler made for him, Jim sorted through the alchemy book, geology guide nearby with an herbalism book beneath it. His phone's alerts were a welcome distraction from the uncanny studies, especially seeing who it was from.

**T** : how's it on the flip side

**J** : crispy. Hey you know that rock you gave me?

**T** : the petrified wood?

**J** : oh you know what it is. I found it in a book.

**T** : I found it when you and I were at the park. I thought all metamorphic rocks came from rocks. It's the only one I know that comes from something that was alive. I don't think petrified poop counts.

**J** : poop gets petrified?!

**T** : yup

Eventually his phone rang. He would have thought it was Toby except it wasn't the Gun Robot ringtone. Mom! He picked up immediately and then regret his enthusiasm. "Hey m-" he fell into a coughing fit, followed by throat clearing and unpleasant sounds. His voice was changing drastically and in such a short time, and unfortunately with a rasp like the other changelings in their monster forms.

"Are you okay, kiddo? Are you getting sick?"

"No, I'm fine mom."

"Don't lie to me. It's not like I'm going to fly over there myself. Unless I have to."

"I'm fine. How's work?"

"It's work. There's been some weird cases- but I'm not calling to talk about me. How's school?"

"It's good. It's self driven learning, so I can work at my own pace."

"That's good. I invited Mr. Strickler over, so if there's anything you don't want me to find out from him, tell me now."

"My old history teacher?"

"Yup. I bumped into him while I was running errands. Apparently your teachers keep him up to date on your progress, and he offered to catch me up. It's not like I can go to a parent teacher conference in Washington D.C."

"Right."  _Crafty changeling, keeping up appearances._

"I miss you Jim. I have to get back to work now."

"Love you mom. Try to eat healthy? Granola, fruit, stuff that gives you energy."

"And you, get enough sleep. I can mother you right back."

"Alright, you got me." She blew a kiss through the phone before disconnecting.

•••

"Waka Chaka."

"Waka chakara?"

"A mean da."

There was something chilling about their chatter. They were conspiring, or something. At Jim's arrival, a handful chattered excitedly, distracted by the anticipation of gifts. One sat at his feet like a proud puppy, tongue hanging out as it panted, an exaggerated mustache drawn below its nose. Jim suddenly remembered Eli's photo. "Hold up, what happened to Fragwa?"

"Waka chaka!" It cried defiantly. The goblins around it chattered in agreement.

"Clearly you're the new Fragwa, but I mean what happened to the last one?"

"Waka. Chakaka!" Something about vengeance. It leapt to its feet, fists raised in demonstration of its passion.

"Whatever, I'm not having this argument right now. Here." He withdrew some dirty socks from his satchel he snagged while he was at the gym. A goblin whimpered behind Fragwa, who managed to slurp the delicacy. "You too, Snoot?" Snoot sniffed at the bag. "I know you can't smell, why do you try?" He dished out more socks, and steadily the numbers around him dwindled.

"Wait, where are you guys going? I haven't given any orders yet." They were quiet for once, slipping through the crevices, crawling through the roof, disappearing into the night. Without a goblin to witness, he went for help, peering through the sheets of the blocked exhibit.

"Nomura? Did you give them the orders yet?"

"Do I look like the Goblin King?" She finally looked up from her work, surrounded by packaging materials. Despite her rugged, cracked troll form, she insisted on sipping tea from her fine China, glowering at him with her glowing green eyes over the gilded rim.

"They left before I could tell them their mission tonight."

"Goblin agenda. They're probably taking vengeance on some pitiful soul. I know where the package is headed, I'll pick it up tomorrow on the way in."

"Thanks, Nomura."

"I'm not doing it for you."

"I don't care. Thank you anyway." Kill them with kindness, right? He glanced back at the structure under the sheets. He had the feeling he definitely couldn't ask her about it. He went back to his janitorial duties. Maybe he could ask about the tapestries? But if it wasn't about pottery, the answer was likely no. His thoughts were interrupted by his phone going off with another text.

T: I don't know if you know but Mr S is at your house

T: with your mom

J: I know. Mom's worried I'm messing up at school or getting bullied

T: oh ok

He strolled through an adjacent hall, wondering what he would do now that he had a little free time. The shining hilt of an ancient sword on display gave him an idea, and he retraced his steps back to the pink queen of mean. "Nomura," he called timidly.

"Hm." She shuffled through packages, stone pieces ranging in size from avocado pits to grapefruits lighting up as they drifted to the structure under the tarps and fastened themselves with magical illumination. She half-heartedly dumped the rest of the contents, a combination of mundane gravel and packing peanuts, into an oversized trash can.

"You're a good fighter, right?"

Her eyes darted to him defiantly. "Was that a serious question?"

Strickler wasn't here to calm her down. He also wasn't here to stop Jim. "Can you teach me?"

She blinked. "I might kill you."

"But if I don't learn how to fight, Coach might kill me, too. When he trains me, it's more like he beats me up rather than actual teaching me."

She smirked. "Strickler would pick the wrong changeling to train you. Go to the exhibit of the Mexican- American war. Pick a sword that's from after 1840 and come back. Make sure you check the plaque, I don't want you to ruin anything too valuable."

He was giddy. She was going to let him use a real sword?! Used in a real war?! There weren't many to choose from, since guns were being used around this time, but he found a Mexican saber with 1841 engraved on the plaque. He tried to read the Spanish encryption on the blade. He gathered that it translated to  _don't_ something  _me without reason,_  and on the other side  _don't_  something  _me without honor_. It was cool, whatever it said. The guard included a teardrop design and the symbol of the hawk and serpent used on the flag. The handle was wrapped in leather and had a wire coil around it to help with traction. He checked that he had space around him to swing it without hitting a display and cut through the air to test its balance. Hopefully Nomura wouldn't kill him before he had a chance to swing it in combat.

He jogged back to the workstation. She was gone, teacup awaiting her among the boxes. He tried to justify her absence, perhaps she too was getting a weapon, despite that her changeling form was always equipped. "Nomura?" He lowered his hood to hear his surroundings better, searching for the sound of her hoofs. His horns sensed a change in pressure behind him and he ducked and spun around. A flash like hot metal lit his face, which he blocked with the saber.

"You let your guard down, Goblin King. Don't ever trust that you're safe. Especially around a changeling. Hiya!" An orange blade swung in from the side. He blocked it, exposing himself as she punched him with the butt of her weapon into his side. He coughed and staggered, scurrying backwards. Just as with gym, he wasn't sure he wouldn't be killed if he failed. Failure was as much an option as death. Nomura slinked around like a snake, dipping down while in a wide stance to duck Jim's blade when he had the courage to swing, punishing him swiftly with a jab of the handles of her khopesh or intimidating him by sparking her blades against his. "Not so close to the displays," she warned casually when a Viking helmet rattled on the stand he walked into. He felt resentful that she took the same approach as Coach, teaching him through "experience" rather than instructing him. They had centuries to learn from trial and error, but he had to survive long enough to endure the trial, which would be more likely to happen if he knew what he was doing. The frustration began to manifest as a black ring around his vision. Despite that he could no longer see the fiery glow of the khopesh dancing just outside his vision, he could still sense them. If he were to try to describe it, he would compare it to zoning out during intense video game marathons with Toby, hitting the buttons in quick succession out of reflex and muscle memory. The percussion of the blades rewarded him- better his saber than his head. The increasing rate at which she swung at him triggered a primal response in him. He used the speed and dexterity he developed in the trees to create distance between himself and his adversary, and then threw the saber.

There was a flash of green and orange as her eyes widened and her head tilted slightly, his blade flashing silver in the place where her face was a second ago, the saber trapped just below its guard between the curved blades crossed against each other. It took a second for him to realize he just threw his weapon and almost stabbed Nomura in the face, the shock coupled with a taste of self betrayal hit with the clatter of the sword as it slipped from its confinement to the floor.

"I hate to admit it, but you're a natural." She stooped to pick up the historical artifact, examining the damage on it. "Don't let it get to your head. After all, you did just disarm yourself."

"I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking."

"Clearly. Daggers would be more your thing, anyway. Go put this back." She tossed him back the saber, hilt first to his relief. Should he thank her for the lesson? She made it hard to give gratitude.

"Thanks for the lesson, Nomura."

"You needed it." He rolled his eyes when his back was to her.


	10. The Gateway of Millennia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own TrollHunters. Tunafishprincess has been a phenomenal beta reader, and a huge motivator for this story getting published. Referenced works include the movie Labyrinth directed by Jim Henson, the book TrollHunters by Guillermo del Toro and Daniel Kraus, and the book The Adventure Begins by Richard Ashley Hamilton.

He prepared his cloak and satchel, dropping them off on the desk in anticipation for the evening. Before he resumed the books again, he planned tonight's last meal. A steak medallion and squash sounded good. He checked his texts on the way to the kitchen where he made sure he had the ingredients. She'd responded after school.

 **C** : when are you coming back

 **C** : to visit

 **C** : or whatever.

He smiled. Could she possibly miss him?

 **J** : I promised to see the play, right?

 **C** : help me with my lines

He got halfway through his response when her picture filled the screen, the device vibrating in his hand. Every time he saw her picture he froze up. He recovered, and dismissed the call.

 **J** : I can't right now, I have to get back to class

 **C** : ttyl

He sighed. He couldn't talk. His breathing was normal but…

He hummed to test his voice. Deep, guttural rumbling emitted from his throat. Stupid genes. Stupid changeling dad that couldn't follow the stupid changeling rules. He could never use his voice around her again, unless he learned to shape shift back to himself, or rather, his human self.

He started baking the medallions and passed the time going through the geology book. Maybe he could find something cool about the stone Toby gave him, which he kept in a secret pouch in the satchel. Occasionally, it seemed to be every few pages, he'd pause his studies to text a cool fact to Toby, who responded each time with a phrase along the lines of, "I know isn't that cool" or "did you also know" or some other nerdy response. There had to be something here sans magic that Toby didn't already know. Jim had made a game of it, which made studying particularly distracting today.

Some time later his phone lit up and rattled on the desk. He glanced at the caller ID and let it go to voicemail. It went off again, local area code. He let it ring. They called back. This time he dismissed the call. It rang again. Dismiss. Ring. It was a bit challenging trying to not exist in the world of humans when he was still getting obnoxious phone calls.

"Wrong number," he growled unintentionally as he answered.

"Jim?"

"Claire?!"

"You're voice got deep!"

"I'm… sick. My voice is going."

"Romeo, oh Romeo, wherefore art thou, Romeo?" Like he could tell her, he grimaced to himself.

"-Who's phone is this?" He interrupted.

"Nope, that's not how the script goes."

"Claire."

"My mom's. She's going to want it back. If I call you back, promise you'll answer?"

He sighed, lips curled in a smile, lower canines unintentionally poking through. "I promise."

She disconnected and he smiled to himself with anticipation. It rang. He smirked. He waited until the fourth ring was almost over. He clicked it on just before it switched to voicemail. "Boo."

She exhaled. For a moment they were both quiet, considering the emotions of the other, speculating. Then with dramatic flair she began again, "Romeo, oh Romeo, wherefore art thou, Romeo?"

"Hang on, let me get out the script…" He flipped through the lines he'd transcribed with the Trollish alphabet onto a legal notepad sitting on the desk. "Which act are you rehearsing from?"

"The second. Tell me if I get the monologue wrong. I got the first act down for sure."

He flipped through the notepad before taking it with him to the kitchen. "Action."

"Deny thy father and refuse thy name." … Why was she starting from this part? Did she know about him and Strickler? No way. It was a coincidence. Had to be. "Or if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love And I'll no longer be a Capulet." She stopped. She cleared her throat.

"Oh! Uh, shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?"

"'Tis but thy name that is thy enemy-" nope, it's bloodline, he thought to himself. "Thou art thyself, though not a Montague. What's Montague? It is nor hand nor foot…"

Her voice was so true, strong and bold, and seemed to rattle him with the integrity and relevance of her script. "... that which we call a rose by any other name would smell just as sweet! So Romeo would, were he not Romeo called, Retain that dear perfection which he owes Without that title. Romeo doff thy name, and for that name, which is no part of thee, take all myself."

He switched the phone to speaker and rest it on the counter to free his hands and applauded. "They're going to weep over your performance!" Her laughter rang throughout the kitchen, making the place brighter. He took a moment to check the steak.

"What are you up to?"

"Dinner. Tonight we're having steak medallions and butternut squash. We being me, unless you want to join." The power of her performance was enough to embolden him to give her his coordinates if she asked.

"Sounds great," she giggled. "How much is tuition if that's the kind of cuisine they have?"

"Oh no, I made this. Just in case training kills me, I'm going down with a full belly."

"Training?" She sounded alarmed. Was she concerned for him?

"Yeah, I've got a personal trainer. It's not as cool as it sounds, believe me. Imagine gym with Coach Lawrence, except more brutal." Since his hands were freed, he took her off of speaker and held her voice close to his ear. "Got any more poetry you need to recite? I'm all ears."

"You're line is next, Romeo."

Good thing she couldn't see him changing colors into that sweet rose. "I take thee at thy word. Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized. Henceforth I never will be Romeo."

Accusingly, she retorted, "What man art thou, that, thus be screened in night so stumblest on my counsel?"

"By a name I know not how to tell thee who I am." That truth that rang in her voice from before? That honesty forced his own deep voice. Besides his name, his father left him with something more, and because of it human Jim could be no more.

"Jim?"

 _Right, stop with the inner monologue_. "My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself, because it is an enemy to thee. Had I it written, I would tear the word."

"I really wish you could have played Romeo. You sound so passionate. You would have brought something special to the performance."

"You have enough passion for the both of us. You were born for the part!" He smiled to himself. He accidentally referred to them as us. Why did he torment himself so?

"Oh, no. I'm sorry, I lost track of time. I have to go. Answer your phone next time?"

"If I can. Claire?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for calling."

"Anytime."

He exhaled after the click. There was something fulfilling about talking to her. He sauteed some squash while he ate the steak, having been pleasantly sidetracked by the play. He tore the sheet from the second act and folded it into the secret compartment with the stone in his satchel. While he prepared, he glanced in the mirror. Aw crap, how long had his eyes been like this? They glowed a little, not as much as Strickler's but in a similar manner, but blue, his pupils shaped to slits, much like Nomura's. He'd been in denial, since they dilated like a cat's eyes, being mostly circular most of the time, but perhaps in response to his emotional state of dread at the anticipation of training they constricted.

He pulled on his cloak and satchel and paced through the apartment to check the stove, oven, and lights were off. Every time he did a thorough walk through he was reminded that he lived alone. He shrugged off the icy feeling of isolation. He would get to see Nomura tonight, and maybe Strickler. And then there were the goblins. He wasn't alone, he assured himself.

•••

The whistle blew. Masked shadows encircled him. He could sense the locations of the ones behind him with the slightest tremble of his horns. In a twisted way, it was like dancing. The one that fought like a martial artist made the first move, forcing Jim closer to the two coordinated fighters. They were excellent at covering each other's blind spots, so he had to duck and pirouette around Martial. Coach seemed to think he had Jim, who writhed in such a way as to slip under Coach without smacking his horns again. He made a quick turn and kicked into Coach's back. He never could manage enough force to roll that boulder, who turned around with the usual arm swing. Jim lowered himself enough that his horns weren't compromised, and jumped to avoid the leg sweep. Here came Skinny. Skinny made him think of a serpent, like a slender wrestler trying to ground him with contortions. Skinny was creepy, and Jim seldom got away with slipping around him. Instead he used carefully applied force, punching away Skinny's limbs before they ensnared him. His horns warned him that he was flanked, and he ducked just as Martial delivered a strong blow that found its way to Skinny's mask. Now behind him, Jim did a round kick as Martial began to tumble onto Skinny, landing his heel at the back of Martial's head, both his sparring partners crumpling onto the mat in a heap. He turned around, ready for the other three to jump him. He'd never made it this far before. Black rimmed his vision, but he was still in control, the same way he was when Nomura had a turn to train him.

Coach roared, rattling Jim's bones.

"You did it, son!"

They all dropped their offensive stances. One of the coordinated fighters nudged Martial off of Skinny, who was pulled to his feet while Martial groaned and rolled onto his back, rubbing his head until he was ready to get up. Suddenly Jim was surrounded by faces as the masks were removed and exclamations from cheering voices. "I don't get it," he stammered.

"You've earned your place among us, son!" Coach clapped him in the shoulder. It still felt like a punch. "The real training begins now."

"What do you mean real training?" He felt faint. Coach laughed in response. The twins kindly pat him on the shoulders and ruffled his hair, the other men slugged his shoulders paternally. Coach turned away to answer a call.

"Yes, sir? Yeah, passed with flying colors! Not a moment too soon, eh? Roger that."

Coach turned back to Jim. "Well son, it looks like you're coming back with us! There's a set of clothes in the locker room. Soon as you're dressed we'll show you your new home."

"Home? What about my things at the apartment-"

"Don't worry about that, not a trace of you will be left."  _The changeling way_ , Jim recited to himself. As Coach said, there was a set of black clothing, like the uniform his sparring partners wore, with a mask like the others had. Was it weird they knew his size? Maybe that had to do with them taking his measurements before training each day.

They rode together in a van. On the way to their quarters, one of the twins sang a phrase in Trollish, and the other encouraged that they sing the whole song. It amused Jim, who had only assumed they were twins based on how they coordinated in battle but came to suspect they may actually be related, clapping hands together to their song before waving at Jim. He'd practiced reading Troll but he couldn't catch all the words they were saying, so he smiled sheepishly. Maybe troll humor was morbid, because though it sounded like they were singing congratulations he could have sworn he heard them say the word for death a few times in a witty rhyme.

They parked in an abandoned costume warehouse, identifiable by the faded but ominous icon of the two masks. Jim always felt that the frown of the second mask outweighed the smile of the first, as if warning that it was inevitable to wear that expression, that all good things ended in sorrow. They walked down an abandoned strip, and what he would've taken for cats or raccoons a few weeks ago he determined was actually goblins arguing in the shadows. He refrained from calling out in greeting to them for fear his new companions might also call him the Goblin King. With his luck Nomura would ensure it anyway. They paused outside, standing solemnly while Skinny worked at the lock to a travel agency location, the name Janus brilliantly lit in the window in neon. Jim recalled the lore from a Greek mythology book Strickler loaned him, about Janus representing gateways as well as duality. They filed in, Skinny closing the door behind them, and Martial took up the phone at the desk. "Where the two faces meet," he recited, and Jim felt the floor give way below them. The walls ascended around them, and it became increasingly dark, though it didn't impair his vision. He wished it did the second he saw a depiction that matched the hulking black mass he once spotted in the sewers among the low light murals. The twins laughed with each other about him jumping. The one without ponytails explained something in troll, and the one with ponytails shook her head and translated for Jim. "The dark one, he will rise again!" The men were still and solemn, and as the elevator approached the appropriate floor the twins calmed themselves also. They slipped their masks on and Jim did the same after removing it from his satchel.

"Follow me," the twin without ponytails instructed, and she moved opposite from the rest of the group down the glowing corridors. It felt like a labyrinth to Jim, who was losing track of the turns in the bland corridors. Eventually she stopped him at a door she referred to as his own. "Your things will be brought here for you. You don't have a schedule yet, so just head to the cafeteria when you're hungry. Stricklander says he'll come for you personally when he's able. In the meantime you're free to do as you please. Just don't wander."

"Stricklander?"

"Yeah, he's personally in charge of you. No one else would take that risk."

Jim frowned and looked around his room. He wasn't sure what question to ask first. Maybe he should just message Strickler. After all, it had been implied he should be careful who to trust, even in the Order. When she departed he dropped his satchel on the bed and rummaged through the contents for his phone. It was right here… did he leave it in his jeans pocket? Not there- in the locker room? No way, he was sure he put it away right here after he packed his clothes. He emptied the satchel, stashing the Looking Glass under the bed and sorting the rest of the things on the bedside table and floor. When he gave up searching he reclined on the bed. It was firm, the sheets coarse, reminding him of a hospital bed. He missed his mom. He missed Toby, and having a walkie talkie by his bed to wish his friend good night. He wanted to check his phone to see if Claire messaged him. Maybe it fell out in the van. He was sure he could ask one of his new companions about it in the morning. Fatigued from combat he fell into a deep sleep and no longer dreamt of the masked combatants.

•••

The entire room lit up. Having been in a deep sleep he squinted and blinked. Out of habit he reached for his bedside table, touching the satchel he left the night before. Right, he hadn't found his phone. He noticed an analog clock on the wall across the room and rubbed his eyes. Without school to attend he was mixing his days.

He pulled on his hooded cloak and mask over his black garb and followed his nose to the cafeteria, which was more of a humble café. There were a few tables to eat at, and not many there doing so. He ordered two bacon and egg tacos. He realized he was used to his account being kept at the school and apologized he didn't bring money. "You already have an account with us," the cashier assured. He took his food and napkins to a table in the corner and sat with his back to the doorway so he could raise his mask to the top of his head to eat. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to keep his face hidden while here.

Murmuring rose up around him from the few other people eating here. "Is that Stricklander's charge?"

"That's him?"

"He's a halfling?"

"No way, a halfling is something completely different. The proper term is half troll."

"I thought he was half changeling?"

"He can't be a changeling, he didn't go through the trial. There's no such thing as a "half changeling"."

"I didn't even know changelings could have descendants."

"Not supposed to."

"We're being rude, someone go talk to him."

He heard fabric rustle as they were clearly gesturing to each other and pulled his mask down expectantly. A female with an Irish accent approached his table, this one without a mask. "Happy death day," she greeted.

"Thank… you?"

"You're Stricklander's kid, right?"

"Stricklander has no descendents!" One corrected her.

"He knows that's not what I meant. His charge!" She turned her attention back to the hooded figure. "Can we see them?"

"What?"

"Your horns!" His stomach tensed, and he looked back to the group that had been gossiping behind him. They all had their masks on, so he couldn't read their expressions. Maybe if he kept his mask on, showing his horns would be okay. He pulled the hood down warily. The Irish woman reached for one and tested it with her fingertips. "Wow, these are good!"

"Are we sure it's not Stricklander's offspring? He has the same horns."

"They're a completely different type of stone."

"They grow in the same direction."

At that Jim spoke up. "Changelings can have different horns?"

"Of course, silly!" There was the sound of electricity arcing and a flash of light, and in the Irish woman's place was a stocky, smiling troll. He thought she might be made of bruneau jasper if he remembered from the geology book correctly. (Toby would have been proud.) A pair of smooth horns curled to make a near circle above her head, reminding Jim of the astrological symbol for Taurus he saw in another one of Strickler's books.

"Guinevere!" a changeling scolded.

She ignored him. "Want to touch them?"

He reached up warily. They were as smooth as they looked, with varying shades of brown like polished wood.

"I still think it's not impossible that he would be Stricklander's offspring. Someone said they saw him with the doctor getting tea. They looked pretty intimate."

"Such petty gossip," Guinevere scolded, rolling her eyes before flashing back into her human form. Suddenly Jim was feeling sick. He could feel the world spinning and the ground was threatening to approach him. His face was cold.

"Hey you, Atlas kid." Jim turned at his nickname. Another masked person had stepped into the cafeteria close enough for Jim to hear. "The boss is calling for you."

"Happy death day," each of the changelings said, in English and Trollish, as he departed. Jim followed the masked man down the corridors to a simple office. The man picked up the analog phone and hit a button before handing it to Jim and walking out.

"Hello?"

"Good morning, Atlas."

"Morning, Mr. Strickler. Hey, everyone keeps saying "happy death day", I don't know if that's another one of those changeling- opposite things. Am I supposed to say it back?"

"No, a death day is celebrated by changelings. It's the day they are first recognized as members of the Order."

"That's a funny thing to call it. -But I'm a member now?"

Strickler sighed. "Atlas…" There was something in that pause that made his heart thunder in his throat. "James Lake Jr. died today."

His face was instantly cold and clammy again. He sat in the nearest chair, decreasing the distance between his head and the floor which threatened to approach rapidly. "What do you mean I died. I'm right here. I'm breathing. At least I'm trying to." A cold wave washed over his body and chilled his bones, and as soon as it consumed him a fire took over, prickling his skin. He was dizzy. The voice in the phone began to fade like he was far away.

"You can't be in both worlds. There's nothing but death waiting for you among the humans, this is truly in your best interest."

"But, my mom-"

"Don't worry about her. I'll be breaking the news to her myself, in person. I can offer that much."

Something the changelings said earlier was churning in his stomach again. "Are you dating my mom." His tone was not inquisitive, it was accusing. He heard the other's breathing halt.

"...yes."

Jim groaned, but it came out as a growl. "How did I die."

"A freak accident at the school. You were catching up on some school work in the lab. A student didn't properly clean their station, which resulted in a chemical explosion. James Lake Jr was the only casualty. His things will be sent back to his mother-"

"My mother."

"I'll make sure she's taken care of."

He slammed the phone on the receiver.


	11. To Test Mettle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own TrollHunters. Tunafishprincess has been a phenomenal beta reader, and a huge motivator for this story getting published. Referenced works include the movie Labyrinth directed by Jim Henson, the book TrollHunters by Guillermo del Toro and Daniel Kraus, and the book The Adventure Begins by Richard Ashley Hamilton.  
> Words spoken in Trollish are italicized.

Jim returned to his room, thoughts clouded, face chilled, and legs threatening to surrender him to gravity. His phone was stolen to protect the illusion, he realized. He leaned against the door the moment it was shut and stared straight ahead. Eventually his eyes wandered. Initially he didn't see it, but when he did his weakness was replaced with anger. Perched on the small table in the same order he'd left them at the apartment were the books. Education was the death of James Lake Jr and here were these textbooks like an apparition, smirking at his phantasmal existence. In a fit of rage he swiped at them, strewing them across the room. The chair followed them. Then the satchel. He didn't have any other possessions, so he kicked around at the mess on the floor, and then slammed his fists into the firm mattress. He hit the mattress again. And again. He battered at it with all his might. It absorbed all his energy. Exhausted, he deflated, half curled on the floor half draped off his bed. What the hell was going on? If he was going to die, couldn't Strickler have warned him? Couldn't he afford to say goodbye to his friends and mom? What was going to happen to him now? His own life was over. Was he to be a hermit the rest of his days?

He looked at the texts spread before him across the floor. As much as he mistrusted Strickler even down to his books, perhaps the answer was here somewhere. He kicked a book in retaliation and then crawled to retrieve it. "Why am I here," he demanded the script, and flipped through pages from that book. He slammed it shut and reached for another. "Why am I here." This one didn't answer him either. He slammed it shut and tossed it across the room. He threw himself on the bed and regret not being more careful with his horns; the tug on his neck reprimanded him. He covered his eyes with his hands and lay there.

Stricklander would spew that stupid lie to his mother who was going to cry into his arms thinking the only family she had left tragically died in an explosion trying to salvage his grades. She would blame herself for letting him go to that fictional school.

Jim imagined Toby waiting for a response to his texts that would never come. Unless he found out, he would eventually give up waiting and call, none the wiser. He might become concerned after a few days of not hearing from Jim. Toby might cross the street the one time his mom happened to be home. His mom would have to explain to her son's best friend that Jim was dead.

Last night was such a highlight in his double life. He finally got to talk to Claire, hear her laugh, be her Romeo. For a moment he felt like the person he wanted to be, cooking steak in his own apartment, studying magic and the history of fairytale creatures, leading an army of goblins. It was weird and not as glorious as it sounded, but it silenced that clock in his heart that told him his days were numbered and that he would amount to nothing.

He shouldn't have succeeded at training. If he didn't land that kick on Martial, he could keep pretending. He could keep reciting lines each night with Claire leading up to her play. He should have stopped Toby on his way to school. Toby would have seen through the lie when he was told an explosion in Washington D.C. ended his friends life, he would've been able to bring some sort of peace to Jim's mother and kept alive the hope that Jim could come back somehow.

Instead there was a hole where he should have been, and time would fill it. Steve would be Claire's Romeo. Toby would make other friends, maybe even with the cast for the play. Everyone would forget him except his mom, a one- member family, abandoned by the men in her life.

And his guardian and protector was going to exploit her.

•••

The exotic text of the changeling book lost Jim's attention, which wandered across the surface of Arcadia, his swollen red eyes glazed over with exhaustion. Out of habit his gaze drifted to the analogue clock above the desk. He had read the time in his head and forgotten and glanced back up again. It was almost six pm. What happened at six again? He would have been out of school by this time so why did it register a value to him?

Gym. "Now the real training begins," Coach said. Jim realized he was expected to keep up the routine. He went to the bedside table and opened the drawers. One had a set of loose clothing he assumed were pajamas, another drawer that appeared to be a black version of the school gyms uniform.

•••

"Hey, Coach." He had found the training room by wandering in the direction opposite the way he came in and glancing through doorways. He was late, but he figured it should be tolerated since he hadn't been given a map of the place.

Coach was examining the shelves and racks of strange looking tools before he glanced up, the animosity from his expression completely absent since Jim's success the night before. "Ah! You showed. Ready for the real training?"

"Let's get it over with." He disrobed his cloak and hung it up on a rack near the door, draping the mask by the strap over it. If it was the wrong move he figured he'd be corrected, but no one had laid out the rules with the masks and it all felt like guess work to him.

"It's never over," Coach corrected. "We're always improving. It doesn't stop just 'cause you walk out those doors."

"Duly noted." Wow, Coach could get deep sometimes? Never trust first or second impressions with changelings. Which is probably why they say don't trust changelings. A projectile flew at his face. He ducked enough to save his skin, but it ricocheted off his horn, rattling his head.

"Pay attention."

"I'm alert!" Jim threw his hands up to block his face as he saw Coach reached for more objects.

"Stay alert. Training is never over."

"I got it! What am I training for, anyway? How to survive cross fire in a battlefield?"

"Possibly. You'll probably end up with more enemies than anyone else, so it's hard to say. Whatever it is, if you don't survive it, I won't survive Stricklander, so you better take this very seriously."

Coach pointed Jim to a corner where a sort of medic began taking his measurements again. The medic didn't have a mask this time, a plain faced woman who was expressionless behind her glasses, marking down in a clip board the values for his vitals and other calculations. He tried to lean in to read over her shoulders, wondering how much higher his body temperature was. She was quick, though, and left the room without a word.

Coach waved for his attention and pointed him to a wall where Martial leaned up against the wall expectantly. Martial also didn't have a mask anymore, which had been the only highlight on him that kept him from completely dissolving in the shadows. Jim discovered that his real name was Jacques, and he had a subtle French accent that softened the harshness of his stern instruction as he showed Jim how to properly stretch. "A trolls structure is stiff as stone, each piece knows its place and will maintain that structure. Flesh is different. You tell flesh how to grow, forcing it in the places you need it, like shaping clay. You are a half breed. If you do not tell your flesh how to grow, the stone will, and you will become brittle as slate. Understood?" Jacques didn't wait for an answer, he moved onto the next step of instructions, finishing with the rhetorical "understood". Jim couldn't help but notice how toned and supple Jacque was, twisting like a contortionist to stretch. He was intimidated to be paired up with him on the mats again, each of the two of them with a padded pole. Coach described the name and movement of a move or swing, Jacques would demonstrate, Jim would test it, wielding the makeshift weapon like a sword. Coach corrected his stance and posture.

Then came the moment of truth. The word "go" was called and Jacques leapt at him, fake blade blurring against the darkness of the room, Jim's opponent a liquid shadow. He couldn't count how many times he was hit in that second before the whistle blew to stop the onslaught. "What are you, a punching bag? Don't just take it, deal it! Places. Go." A second after the whistle was blown again. "You've got great reach with those skinny legs of yours. Now instead of running away, face your opponent. Again. Go."

After the third try and what felt like bruising in his elbows, the familiar dark ring around his vision made the shadows irrelevant. He didn't need to see Jacques weapon. He could feel it before it hit his skin. Like he had swatted away Skinny's limbs, he used the blade to swat away the padded blade of pipe that intruded on his space. The weapon was harder to maneuver than the saber Nomura let him test, the one currently in his hands being bulky and longer, but in a way Jacques instructed him to, he was telling his flesh what to do, teaching his muscles to memorize the movements, and increasing in force behind each stroke like etching the memories into stone.

Coach was pleased with his performance. If Jacques was satisfied, he didn't show it. "Excellent perception, quick reflexes- you just might have something natural about you after all! You're a natural killer!"

Jim was breathing too heavily for his body to betray his thoughts on the matter. He recognized for the first time that he could feel the killer in him, and it terrified him that he felt empowered by it.

•••

Jim struggled over the complications of reading a foreign language in a different alphabet from a different time, the style of speech in this ancient textbook dated now. He brought it with him to breakfast hoping to conquer the texts in his lifetime, however brief that could end up being.

"Stricklander's kid!" He recognized the voice as Guinevere's and regarded her inquisitively. Changelings usually weren't friendly with him from the start. Though he couldn't trust first impressions, he permitted himself to feel pleased about friendly conversation.

"Hi, Guinevere."

"Watcha readin'?" She glanced over his shoulder, eyes dashing through the text. "Ay, that's a hard read. You must be a scholar or something."

"Or something. Trying to read this makes me feel like I have rocks for brains." Swiftly she asked him something in trollish and he rubbed the back of his head below his horns.

 _"I'm sorry, please slowly,"_  he answered.

"Awe, you babble like a babe." She sat across from him without invite, but also without any resistance on Jim's part. "I'll teach you a few things. We'll start with the basics.  _Hello_."

_"Hello."_

"Good." Then slowly so he could keep pace, since he'd been reading the language and hadn't had the chance to hear it, " _What is your name?_  You start with  _my name is_..."

_"My name is Jim."_

She gasped softly and tsked. "If Stricklander is indeed taking charge of you, he is slacking in your education of being a changeling. James Lake Jr. is dead, everyone knows that. What are you going by now? Never had an alias before?"

"Um..." He pondered for a moment. A nickname? Can't go by Jimbo, Jimbo is... He shoved away the visual of how Toby would have responded to the news. He's only seen Stricklander and Nomura, and the goblins. It bothered him already when strangers called him Atlas, since he didn't feel he could trust Stricklander, and it made him feel like all these spies were just extensions of the changelings watching eyes. At training he was called a few choice words but those would stay in the past. " _My name is Jareth._ "

"Ah, good! Excellent pronunciation, one can tell you have the gizzards of a troll." Next she taught him how to ask one's age, and paused to review numbers because when speaking to trolls about age one could end up involving four digits.

•••

After lunch he went to his room and sat at his desk with the drawer beside him open and in front of him an open text book for appearances and a journal to jot quick notes in. From the drawer he removed the Looking Glass, preparing himself to stash the artifact if his door was ever opened. He couldn't wait until after hours, since by then the officials would have cleaned up the office. He spun the glass, sending Scout down the hall a few doors and turning it at the tapestry in the doorway. In here was a goldmine of data. Names, titles, procedures, even phone numbers, addresses, drivers license numbered, social security numbers, bank account numbers, were strewn across the desk tops. The walls were obscured by monitors from various security cameras he suspected weren't all installed at this facility. He discovered that a terrifyingly large amount of information was easily accessible to the changelings, was documented on paper to be referenced without detection from the humans, and sources sent electronically were set to self destruct by a certain time as though they never existed. This was how he understood the way James Lake Jr died. When a changeling was relocated for the first time, whatever family, classmates, or other peers they had must be convinced that the changeling's alias ceased to exist. Law enforcement was infiltrated, so accidents, murders, and kidnappings could be staged. The changelings were then relocated into the occupation they trained for, usually starting with an entry level job unless it was advantageous to grant them a head start in a better rank, but do to the longevity of changelings this was seldom necessary. Then whatever connections the Janus Order had within the field returned the favor and one way or another gave the necessary promotions.

Without a human passing form, Jim couldn't be stationed on the surface. So what was he doing here?

•••

The next day he felt more willing to ask questions from his new tudor when he saw her at lunch. He thought Guinevere would be open to answering if he could impress her with what he'd learned.

"Guinevere?"

"Aye."

" _What is the light clad one_?"

"Light clad one?"

"Yes. The goblins would sometimes talk about him, but they're not very good at explaining things."

"Is that what you're looking for in that book of yours?" He nodded. He let her take the book from his hands and watched her flip through it. She ended up flipping in both directions, bookmarking a few places with her fingers before searching for the parts she wanted to reference. "This is the Pale Lady." She held the book for him to see while trying to keep track of the other places with her fingertips. "She's like a deity to us. She created us changelings. Is that what they might have been talking about?"

"I don't think so."

"And you're sure you understood them right?"

"They're simple creatures. They're easy to get."

"You're the only one who's ever said that." He needed to be careful if he was going to ever outgrow the title Goblin King. "You know, now that I think of it, the Pale Lady had a nemesis. There isn't much here about Merlin himself, but he created a magical artifact."

"Merlin? The wizard? Like, from Arthurian legends?"

"Aye. The artifact he named Daylight, and it is a suit of armor and sword."

"Maybe that's it!"

"The amulet attunes to a single wielder at a time until their death. That wielder is charged with the responsibility of dispatching the Gumm Gumms."

"What are Gumm Gumms?"

She held open the book at another bookmark. "Powerful trolls. They are currently serving under Gunmar."

"I've heard of him. Skullcrusher, right?"

She nodded. "The last victory for the TrollHunters was centuries ago, when the Trollhunter, as they're called, trapped the Gumm Gumms on the other side of the Killahead bridge and closed the portal."

"So then what? If the Trollhunter succeeds at stopping the Gumm Gumms, what do they do afterward?"

"But the Gumm Gumms aren't stopped. They will resurface, soon, and it has been the Pale Lady's order that we ally with them to survive. It is destined." Jim rubbed his eyes as he processed the new information. Great, politics. It made sense that creatures that lived so long would have disputes and wars for centuries. And to do so without humans noticing was impressive. It had the surreal feel like a bedtime story, but he was a new character in this ongoing narrative. "Dear, have I put you to sleep?"

"No, it's just… a lot to take in. I don't know if I have the bandwidth."

"Don't sweat it, child. You're on the right side."

"That's a relief." He smiled at her. "Thank you for talking to me."

"Of course! You know, it's funny that you got me talking about the Trollhunter." She smiled mournfully at the table.

"Why's that?"

She took a moment to rub at her eye before replying. "I had a good friend I lost recently. Gladys, was her name, Gladys Groe. She was practicing to become a dentist. Had another year before she would graduate school to do so. Felled by the Trollhunter just yesterday."

He vaguely recalled an officer scratching a line from one of the data sheets after a phone call. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," she insisted, wincing. "This is a war. There will be casualties. But once the portal is opened, we'll have our day. I just hope we can get it open soon enough. First Nomura, then Gladys-"

"Nomura?!"

"Oh, she's fine. At least, she wasn't felled, just discovered. Same night you started here, I believe. The Trollhunter broke into the museum and almost ruined everything."

The pieces started to fall together. The Trollhunter broke into the museum while he was at training, and Coach got a call before taking him here. "I'm trying to protect you," Stricklander had said. He was telling the truth. Would Nomura be okay?

•••

He mixed his own elixir, having found the recipe in the alchemy book and ingredients stashed in the desk, excluding the seasonings. As much as he hated to admit it, Stricklander was still helping him, even if he wasn't present. Though Jim couldn't forgive Stricklander for taking advantage of his death to get closer to his mother, he would momentarily forget that he resented him just by having more people to talk to. He saw Nomura in the halls once, but she had deliberately looked away from him, a shadow of shame across her face he didn't understand. Jacques helped him test out different weapons to find himself a good fit. He settled for throwing knives. He could still fight with them with close combat, familiar with their balance and channeling his inner chef, and at first he would get flashbacks of his home in Arcadia. He could see the dappled sunlight stream through the window in the kitchen, steam rise from a pot on the stove in his peripheral and the knife block in front of him when he practiced throwing. It didn't take long for him to figure how to get the blade to stick in the target, and when he found himself having difficulty sleeping he wandered back to the training room for target practice. The repetitive motions became his new meditation since he didn't have a kitchen to cook in anymore.


	12. Call of the Goblin King I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own TrollHunters. Tunafishprincess has been a phenomenal beta reader, and a huge motivator for this story getting published. Referenced works include the movie Labyrinth directed by Jim Henson, the book TrollHunters by Guillermo del Toro and Daniel Kraus, the book The Adventure Begins by Richard Ashley Hamilton, and the Tumblr post from Heliophobes Avery's Guide to Goblins.  
> Speech in Goblin is indicated by italics.

The smell of sweat had gone cold, clinging to the walls and equipment, competing with the mild perfume of cleaners. The soft billowing of fabric disturbed the dark silence, followed by muted fumbling of leather straps and metal clasps. Jim glanced over his shoulder, calculating the shadows that disrupted the crack of light from the closed door. His mask was stowed in the satchel he pulled over his shoulder then. He adjusted it over the leather armor he donned, a two piece that protected his torso and shoulders, and attached to it was a holster for a pair of daggers and a pack of three throwing knives. Strapped to his calf was the spare blade he confiscated from the goblins, which looked like a stray from Stricklander's cape.

Otherwise he disguised his intentions with only a casual demeanor. He couldn't hide himself, everyone knew that hooded cloak, and without it everyone would recognize his set of horns, tapered and curved back like Stricklander's but charred bone in color. In his satchel he packed little more than his Looking Glass, the petrified wood piece Toby gave him, and the page where he transcribed the play into the Trollish alphabet. In the far side of the dark, empty training room was the locker room, where the showers drained into a single larger grate. He used a dagger under the edge to pull it up and out, slipped in, and pulled the grate over after him.

And just like that he'd left the Order.

He was confident he could squeeze through the drainage to the main sewers. On a map the officers examined in the offices was a layout of the underground access, an escape route if anything happened to compromise the travel agency that made the primary entrance. When he thought he'd covered enough ground and was in unclaimed territory, he took out the Looking Glass to scout ahead. Though he was armed this time, he really, really, really didn't want to face a troll. He fared well enough when sparring with the changelings, but he didn't know if they were going easy on him. Apparently, Stricklander had some sway over just about everybody.

Jim had nearly caught up to where he left Scout when the faintest sound made him slow his pace. He turned back slowly. There was no one behind him, but he couldn't help but feel like he was being-

A weight dropped onto his shoulders. It maneuvered across his back, then under his arm, pulling at the straps of his armor and satchel. Jim felt a yank at each of his ears, and glowing yellow eyes bored into his own.

"Waka chaka!"

"Batty! What in the world are you doing here?"

"Waka!" It called cheerfully into his face, holding itself in place by Jim's long pointed ears with its hands and his shoulders with its feet.

Jim's face cringed at its response. "Ugh! Are they not taking care of you? When's the last time you had your teeth brushed?" He reached into the satchel for the spare toothbrush he kept back in the museum days and scrubbed away at Batty's teeth. _A toothless goblin is a dead goblin_ , he recited in its tongue. Batty cooed and melted unto the floor where Jim continued to brush. Softly he heard other voices calling out in recognition. "Man, I actually missed you guys. C'mon, let's get out of here." He carried on his journey with the posse of creepers. A troll with a lick of sense wouldn't approach a party of goblins. He conversed with them in English so more words were available to him, but understood their responses spoken in their babble. "Did I miss anything? What happened after the break in at the museum?"

 _Pink danger noodle hunt Light Clad One_.

"How'd that go?"

 _Blue fight_.

"Light Clad One is blue?"

 _Yes_ , affirmed a goblin.

"News to me, I don't know any true trolls, except Bular. Have you guys seen Stricklander? Is he still around?"

_Green-fruit leader same._

"Why am I not surprised." He scoffed. Of course Stricklander would carry on with work and teaching and probably dating just the same. Why would any of that change.

A goblin chattered excitedly, riling up the others.

"Who's party monster?  _Shape shifter_?" They roared over his mispronunciation. He understood his error when they turned the insult back at him and he corrected himself with emphasis.

 _Yes. Big parties Lightless Place_.

"Really? Well I guess someone has to be in such a dreary place." He sighed. Another baby taken from their loving family that wouldn't be missed. He didn't understand the magic of the Changeling Nursery, but merely existing in solitude was not what humans were meant to do. Half humans, maybe. "C'mon, let's get as far away from here as possible." He moved ahead, unsure of the direction he was going. He should have paid attention the only time he arrived at the Janus Order. He managed to navigate using the size of the passages as confirmation that he was heading towards town where he could get his bearings. "Hey, I think we're under Delancey street. Let's get some fresh air." He looked up and around.

From the surface, a manhole cover trembled and grated sideways across the newly laid asphalt. A set of glowing yellow eyes topped with green fur and dwarfed by leathery ears scanned the street level. "Waka, chaka," it announced. It crawled out, ears scanning where its eyes couldn't. Human fingers gripped the edge of the hole, and a not human head poked out, grunting. It was like gym class all over again, except rope would have been a good thing. He pulled himself onto his elbows and side stepped into the shadows where the construction vehicles were parked. There didn't seem to be anyone out anymore. They snuck into a neighboring alleyway, Jim clearing his nose of the underground stench with deep breaths.

"Are we missing someone?" He looked around at the otherwise empty alley, furnished with trash cans and dumpsters belonging to the corresponding stores and restaurants.

"Cha! Mean-da!"

A goblin poked his head out of one of the cans belonging to a Mexican cuisine restaurant and bar. It proudly brandished a chicken rib cage in its yellow stained hands, the skeleton already stripped of its meat for enchiladas or some other dish.

As if attempting to calm a wild beast, Jim put his hands out cautiously and approached slept. "Chicken Legs, don't do this-"

Salivating heavily, it nearly unhinged its jaw and used both yellow paws to shove the entire thing into its maw. "Spit it out! You can't eat chicken bones, remember last time?!" Forgetting they could use their mouths to shred through metal, Jim desperately reached his fingers around the fowls corpse and tried to withdraw it from the goblin. Chicken Legs allowed itself to come with it and wiggled its limbs limply while Jim struggled. "I said spit it out!" He pinned the dangling creature by pressing his foot over its toes and yanked.

"Mami, where are you going?"

"I hear a kid back there."

"You're not their mother…"

His stomach dropped like a rock with dread. He kept his grip on the goblin and hid behind a dumpster, looking back in remorse at the manhole that was out of reach. He saw the lengthened shadow of the woman who was approaching. He remembered her voice from the fundraiser at the hospital. Councilwoman Nuñez. Of all people, he didn't want to be discovered by the councilwoman of Arcadia, and Claire's mother. It didn't help that Chicken Legs was choking on its foolish decisions. It pointed pleadingly at the back of its throat at the few bones that broke off the carcass and went down the hatch. Jim glared in response and put a finger to his lips. A human could go four minutes without oxygen before the brain started to die, he learned in health ed. Surely a goblin would be fine for one, because the alternative was goblins and a half- breed that worked for a secret order that had its roots across the globe being publicized by the councilwoman of Arcadia. She might even be able to maneuver to a position in the federal government with a discovery like that, head the new branch in troll intelligence. The Order would silence him before anything was revealed. Councilwoman Nuñez turning right and taking a few more steps meant Jim would die a second time, and from assassination of an entity that didn't exist. A permanent death this time.

A phone rang. Her steps stopped. His breath hitched in his throat. "Hello?... is that so? Thank you, I'm on my way."

Her companion, Jim assumed Mr. Nuñez, had caught up to her. "What is it?"

"Apparently, we have our own child to worry about."

Jim waited for the sound of footsteps to die off. He turned to Chicken Legs and gave it a hard smack on its back, bones shooting across the alley from the cannon of its throat. "Let's get out of here," he pointed to the manhole cover.

They wandered back through the sewers, and Jim lead the goblins by his ears. "I hear something. It's familiar. C'mon, let's check it out." They scurried along the pipes and by his feet, stopping occasionally like roaches to sniff at the air. "Wait, I recognize this song. It's on the tip of my tongue. That's the song they play on the radio- Papa Skull! I didn't know they had a concert in Arcadia! We gotta check it out." He began to sprint to the source, ducking through the more narrow passages, goblins chattering about bones and parents as they went. He got as close as he could to the sound from within the underground channels, the singer's voice faint to him but the rhythm of the bass beating through him. "I'm at a concert," he cheered. He looked back at the goblins, which were involuntarily bouncing to the beat.

 _Insides corrode alarm question_.

"You're fine! It's called music. You guys seriously lack in culture."

Some of them looked terrified, thoroughly believing they would fall apart at the intensity of the sound. Greg looked unphased, bouncing its head with the beat, nametag clipped to his ear flapping with the intensity. The rest of Greg below the neck was relaxed and unmoved. Perhaps it understood head banging. Jim dropped the hood to soak in the sound. Finally, he felt free, even if he was hiding from society, and from a secret society, crouched in a tunnel of rejected substances. This may be the most human he'd felt in weeks, savoring the music with the crowd of fans nearby. He forgot for a moment about the textbooks in Trollish, about his training in combat, about the changelings secret agenda, about what would happen when Stricklander realized he'd left, about trolls in general and about being dead to his friends and mom. For a moment he was just in a stinky underground pipe listening to metal.

The music died, and the crowd dispersed. He exhaled contentedly. "Alright, I'm almost hungry enough to eat trash like you guys. Let's fix this."

It was tricky navigating these rigid paths to optimal places to slip into the surface world undetected. He found a manhole near a pizza place and snuck with the goblins to the dumpster. Like a maestro, he conducted the organization of his subordinates with his words and occasional gestures. "Open that box, what's in it. Jalapeños? Nah. Not that one. Pineapple? Well, better than jalapeños, but I get why it's untouched. Bring it here. Close it first!"

They slipped back into the manhole, and Jim opened the box with a brandish. "Cold pizza. The best pizza! Who wants some?" He reserved two slices for himself, tossing the crust to the always ravenous creepers, and reserved the box itself for Mutton Chops. "An eventful night, I'd say. Where have you guys been staying?"

They chattered. He picked up a word that he thought meant palace. They seemed to lead to the outskirts, where the group clambered out another manhole in a quieter side of town. Dogs announced the presence of the party, which was of no consequence. A few more turns through back routes and they arrived at a junkyard. Jim was relieved, it was the perfect place for garbage- eaters to dwell without being problematic to humans. The mounds of waste rose upward like turrets, obscuring the view outside the plot. Jim found a car at the edge of a centralized pile that had the passenger side door missing. The drivers side had debris that cascaded in through the busted window. He sniffed at the decayed foam of the car seat. The weather had been too dry for mold to completely take over, and it looked relatively okay for an abandoned preowned. "I call dibs on the throne," he called to the others. They ignored him, getting comfortable in tires and old appliances. Toby would have gotten his joke. The recliner for the car seat was broken, set permanently as far back as debris behind it could allow. Ironically it was softer than his bed in the Order, although it was no more comfortable. He propped his feet up on the dashboard and pulled the hood over his face. He felt proud of himself. If it weren't for the close call, he'd consider himself to be doing well, having acquired food and a place to sleep on his first day out on his own.

But what would tomorrow bring? When he saw on the map a means to escape without detection, it almost felt like a test to see if he could get away with it. It was the changeling way to hide things in plain sight, for the hardest thing to be too easy to be true. Now that he'd proven to himself he wasn't stuck, he couldn't bring himself to want to go back. Day to day life was redundant and didn't seem to lead up to anything meaningful. He recalled the ticking that dominated his dreams back in school. It was returning. It was the soft ticking off a wristwatch now, but just as before, it would build to a grandfather clock in the silence between the pages of the books and the smacks and slaps in gym.

He was back at square one.

•••

The ticking became irregular and discordant. His eyes flew open at the slam of a washer. He looked around, confused by his surroundings. Now that the sky was getting light he could see the faded colors of the rubbish, and he could somewhat make sense of the general shapes of things, enough that he could walk faster without fear of snagging his clothing or skin on things. There were voices, probably from the business workers. A refrigerator opened and a goblin crawled out on all fours like a spider, and Jim noticed the similar scurrying of the other goblins heading in the same general direction through decomposed mattresses, mangled shopping carts, twisted bikes, unrecognizable fabrics, rolls of rotting carpet, and similar waste. He followed. He climbed up a couch that leaned vertically on a turret of garbage to leap over the fence. Down into the storm drain he gathered with the goblins, listing their names to make sure there was no one missing.

•••

The trees released their scent in the warmth of the sun. The hum of cicadas and far away highways kept the air alive with ambient static. There would be visitors to the park, sure, but humans were typically lazy and habitual and weren't likely to wander off the pavement into the thicket. Jim practiced his coordination with the spare blade, twirling it between his fingers, while he chatted aloud to the large green ears that surrounded him.

"Just an idea. What would it take for me to get to Vermont? I can't afford bus tickets. I can't exactly hitch hike." The blade fell. He picked it up and began slowly again, steadily picking up speed as he twirled the blade once more. "Maybe we can break into the library at night and print out a map. But I don't know where in Vermont I would go. Maybe he's hiding like a recluse, too. Maybe the girlfriend part was a lie. Or she's a changeling. This is stupid. Forget I even brought it up." He threw the blade at the tree trunk in front of him. Dumb idea- the curvature of the target made it ricochet into the weeds. He sighed at the hopelessness of his bad ideas. "He's my dad. He'd have some compassion knowing we share the same curse, right? Maybe he could teach me how to shape shift?" He accepted the blade that was brought to him by Eyebrows. "But if Stricklander won't even try to teach me how, maybe it's because it can't be done. Or he doesn't care." He examined the blade. "Stricklander. What a weird name." He sighed. His life in Arcadia was over, and he didn't want to go back to the Order. If he did try to go back to the life he had, he knew the agents would be waiting to ambush him. It wouldn't be safe for anyone he cared about for him to trigger that trap. The only thing that remained of James Lake Jr that the Janus Order couldn't remove was James Lake Sr., since they couldn't exactly take away a part of his life that wasn't actually a part of his life.

Jim imagined a plain colored, common car pull up the driveway to a cookie cutter house. An older version of himself emerged. Blue eyes were weighed down with weariness from work or lack of sleep, slightly obscured by the glare of the neighbor's porch light reflecting off his rectangular glasses. His hair was disheveled from a full day at a standard nine to five job. He probably scratched at the back of his head the way Jim did. He walked up the small yard, perfectly manicured, to the pristine, plain house. He stopped at the door to pick up a newspaper or mail or something, and a boy wearing a hood leaned carefully out from beside the porch.

What would he call him to know if he found the right person? Mr. Lake, Sr? James Lake? How would he react to being called dad?

Before he could get a word out, the light on the porch came on and a woman opened the door. Behind her was the sound of children laughing.

He gripped the blade hard. Ten years. Jim and his mom could have easily been replaced in ten years. He never allowed himself to even consider what would have happened to his father in all this time. Allowing himself to speculate this one time triggered an emotional response he didn't understand, didn't want to understand, didn't have the energy or courage to begin to try to comprehend.

"So when does the circus come around, anyone know? I bet I could make a killer. Who wants to help me learn how to juggle knives? No one's laughing? I thought it was a great joke. Half joke. I might not be joking, it's the best idea I've got."

•••

The setting sun invited the crew back into town for odd meals of conveniently accessible, questionably old portions. Desert turned out to be a bulk package of still frozen miniature cheesecakes. Freezer Burn held up the mother load proudly to Jim's dismay.

"Where did you get this? I don't even know what restaurant serves these! No you can't put it back, they have food laws against that! It's a very important rule you can't break. Not something you can actually break, it's- look, what's done is done. Just stay out of freezers. You should know better, of all goblins." He referred to the tip of its left ear that broke off from frostbite, a scar it acquired before falling under Jim's care. At some point, somehow, it was locked into a freezer for an undetermined amount of time by mistake. It must be difficult being a parent. Freezer Burn didn't so much as shrug, it just ignored him and went off to do its own thing. Hopefully that did not include stealing more food.

The goblins were repulsed by the mere appearance of the pastries, and so Jim resorted to stocking up on calories. The cakes were good, but he couldn't quite enjoy his second dinner out in the world on his own. He was miserable from a full day in the sun with little to do, and hiding under ground lowered his self esteem. He was literally lower than homeless, on the run with nowhere to run. The cheesecakes lost their appeal three slices in; the thickness in his throat made him thirsty. He rubbed the sticky dairy off his hands on his pants. He was repulsed by his own hygiene. Perhaps if he woke up early enough he could rinse off in someone's sprinklers.

They took shelter at the edge of town towards the woods, into a small section underground that branched under the sidewalk, in case a troll passed by overnight. "Wake me if we have company, got it?" The goblins piled in the corner of the alcove opposite him, secreting their mucus. He avoided glancing back at their slimy mess and wished he could plug his ears from the sounds of gathering snot. He lay back with the satchel under his head and his hood over his face, the cloak folded over himself to keep warm. Tonight his thoughts lingered on how he was going to take shelter when the rain came and his passageways became rivers. He could hide up in the trees in the forest so lightning could find him and put him out of his misery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goblin reference guide:  
> https://local-heliophobes.tumblr.com/post/158176127661/averys-guide-to-goblin-identification


	13. Call of the Goblin King II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own TrollHunters. Tunafishprincess has been a phenomenal beta reader, and a huge motivator for this story getting published. Referenced works include the movie Labyrinth directed by Jim Henson, the book TrollHunters by Guillermo del Toro and Daniel Kraus, and the book The Adventure Begins by Richard Ashley Hamilton.  
> Words spoken in Goblin are italicized.

The repetition of a syllable and a clammy prod to the forehead woke him from his slumber. _Right, the goblins_. He rubbed the sleep from his face, patting his hair and horns as he sat up and the hood dropped. "I'm up," he insisted, waving away Fragwa. He stumbled groggily through the tunnel to cleaner air and sunshine, joints stiff from sleeping on cement. He inhaled the fresh air and coughed at the smell of rot. It occurred to him that the source that penetrated his already unpleasant dreams was outside all this time; perhaps a large animal died nearby. He regret that wasn't the case when he discovered the carcass, a skull that was clearly human grinned up at him.

"What in the world?"

His heart stopped. This should not be here. A human's body should not be in the forest like this. The park was only a little ways off. The road wasn't far in the other direction. This was too close to the city for someone to get lost and die, or for someone to dump a murdered body. There should not be circumstances that made Jim's thoughts race like this.

Reluctantly, he leaned down to examine it. The wildlife had cleaned away at it, leaving marks on its surface, he speculated. It didn't make enough sense with what he knew, though, because these marks were large, and there weren't large predators in Arcadia. He looked around it and found a black shard. Gingerly he picked it up, conflicted with touching things while the human remains were so close in front of him. Was this a scale? In his mind he flipped through the pages of one of Strickler's books, trying to think of creatures with scales that were large enough to eat humans.

A screech stopped him mid thought. In goblin he commanded the crew to hide, and they scurried for the trees and scrambled into the branches for cover. The sound of flapping drew his eyes to the sky. Silhouetted by the sun was a lanky creature looking like an animated gargoyle with a toothy beak.

"A stalkling?! What in Arcadia is a stalkling doing here?"

 _Boss kid_ , a goblin offered.  _Light Clad One_.

"Bular? Is he trying to expose us? That crazy troll must be desperate. A Stalkling can't stay in Arcadia. We have to do something about this!"

 _Nope_.

"Fine. I'll take care of the gargoyle, you guys help me track it."

 _Already dead_ , the goblin teased, referring to the risk Jim was putting himself in.

"You're not that far off."

It was on the move. It called its threat out at them and went off another direction. Having practiced in the trees for weeks now, he kept up a lot of speed as he descended. He wasn't worried about trolls this time of day, and humans seldom bothered to wander this way, as the Stalkling proved by setting its lair here. As he followed it closer to town, however, the threat of exposure grew heavy in his chest. Stalklings were stealthy and untraceable to anyone that didn't know they existed, but they had speed and height. Jim, on the other hand, could not be quiet enough running this hard, and if it passed over the canals into town he would need to go underground, possibly losing the predator. He felt a conflict of hope and dread as it circled back ahead of him. It found prey. He clambered back up a tree and across the branches into another that cascaded over the road. He recognized the sound of mopeds heading his way, a ghost of nostalgia coming back to him in spite of the adrenaline. He couldn't help but distantly bond with other two wheeler fans, nor could he allow them to be victim to a war they had no part in. He heard a crash, and another moped came around the corner.

The driver was alone, the worst thing to be with a Stalkling tailing behind, already swooping down to strike.

The purple ensemble silenced his sanity.

Claire.

The black rim encroached in his vision, muting the voice of self preservation. The Stalkling had to touch the ground since Claire slowed the rickety moped to try to duck away from the monster. It did a flapping gallop around her. It was right below him, trying to get a grasp of the driver. He took a leap, the realization of his actions barely hitting as his body smacked the stony beast. He struggled to grip onto the scaly scruff of the gargoyle, its smooth, writhing hide hard to hold onto. He tried to grip its torso with his thighs, but the beast was too big around. It dove for the trees. A branch came right for him, and though he saw it coming he couldn't react accordingly, taking a hit harder than Coach thrusting him onto the mat, followed by more beatings across his body as he succumbed to gravity.

He could barely think, much less move. The familiar sound of goblins moaning surrounded him, a sniff in his ear. "I'm okay," he assured. They grumbled and groaned in anticipation as he sat up. He caressed his left horn to feel for a chip or crack. "Alright, change of plans. We're going to make sure Claire is never alone. She's easier to track, and I think by now it's marked her. When it comes back, we'll be ready," he insisted. Two spoke affirmatively and dashed ahead to track their new objective.

He was too sore to keep close. Instead he isolated the Glass and let the goblins be his ears. It concerned him that even the goblins lost track of her almost immediately, but later they found her again on her way home in the late afternoon with two of her friends from school. He kept his distance, listening out for the tell tale flaps. What was he going to do if she did end up by herself and draw the attention of the stalkling? He had two daggers. One for each eye if the opportunity presented itself, which it wouldn't. The rest of the monster was stone, immune to the effects of the sun and his throwing knives. He wondered how much she'd seen from earlier, if she saw anything other than the stalkling. The darker it became in the evening, the closer he allowed himself to be to her residence, keeping an ear out from the woods. Without orders the goblins quite considerately delivered hot dogs to him from the barbeque. He celebrated internally over the high quality chorizo, and to have protein to offset the excessive sweets he ate the night before. The lack of screaming from the partygoers kept him from scolding the goblins for stealing. The scent of the smoke, the warmth of the sun, the hum of visiting family members at a gathering brought him peace, as long as he couldn't hear the monstrous wail or beating wings.

•••

As darkness settled, the vehicles hummed alive and departed. He dropped from a tree to stretch his limbs and confirm she was still home, walking from beside the house to scope out the neighborhood from the side yard and see if he could determine where the stalkling would linger. Just as he did he caught a brief glimpse of a blur in the sky. As he suspected, Claire was indeed marked, and fortunate to have a family barbecue on such a day. The lights downstairs went out. He felt nostalgia for being home, having anyone turn the lights on or off besides himself. A dim light came on in Claire's room. "But soft, what light through yonder window breaks," he sighed to himself. He slipped into the trees as he heard the window open. From the side of the plot, he could keep an eye out for the stalkling and be up by the time she had to go to school. Meanwhile he'd see if he could keep his balance in the trees in his sleep. From his new perspective he could see her baby brother's nursery, the nightlight casting stars onto the ceiling in his room. What a mess these innocent people didn't deserve to be a part of.

•••

The dark, cloudy skies threw off his internal clock. He woke up in time to see Claire riding her bike up the street with Darci. She wouldn't be by herself on the way to school, at least. He woke up the group and they strolled to the canals through the patch of forest. They walked to school from underground and Jim tried to recall what classes he had with her and at what times, so he could anticipate any moments where she was vulnerable. In his roost across the street in a tree he isolated the Glass and humored himself with suspending it over his empty seat in class. The goblins were right, Stricklander showed up at school just the same. Toby looked like a sad mess. He hid his snacks behind his book and chewed somberly. Jim speculated ways that he could reach out to him to give him peace. Claire spaced out, but when called upon she was quick with a reply. Whatever it was pacified Stricklander. Stricklander then glanced at the empty desk where Jim hovered Scout. Could he see it? He didn't have the glasses on. Jim exhaled when Stricklander looked back to his notebook.

Why wasn't Steve in class? He wheeled the scout around the room, seeing everyone's faces between his fingers on a miniature television. When he got bored with spying he practiced contact juggling, aimlessly rolling it around on his arms. He suspected that there was more to the Glass if he could master it. Nomura mentioned something about scrying when she first gave it to him. Maybe he could figure out how to do that from his end. It was an ineffective distraction from the looming shadow that dipped from the clouds on occasion. From what he could tell he wasn't the marked prey, so he waited. A goblin returned to him with a cup of applesauce he assumed was stolen from the cafeteria. "Thanks, Spearmint." He peeled the foil back to drink it and paused. "Hey, do you know what a Nougat Nummy is? It's a candy bar. The wrapper is red and yellow. Okay, now there's a boy in school that also wears red and yellow clothes. I want you to give him a Nougat Nummy, but you can't let him see you. It's fine, forget it. We had a close enough call with Claire's mom." Jim dismissed the thought and focused on drinking the apple sauce.

As the student body dissolved into the street for the evening, a rumbling picked up in the distance, hiding the sounds of the Stalkling as it landed on the roof. They both waited out the rehearsal, Jim doing so by counting in between lightning strikes and thunder bolts. The rehearsal seemed brief, perhaps since Steve was absent today. Jim was caught off guard by the students leaving before time, and he quickly fumbled with the Glass to send the scout out once again. He was split between watching the Stalkling and searching for Claire with the crystal orb, which was a tedious process. In the Glass he saw Claire in front of the auditorium, talking to Ms. Janet. The teacher shook her head somberly. Ms Janet left, and Claire was on her phone. Jim glanced from between his hands to the hungering gargoyle. Nothing was getting past that beast, and currently Claire didn't have enough company. The cast scattered quickly in anticipation of the storm. He lost her in the Glass. The stalking was gone. Did he miss his chance already? He stowed the artifact back into his bag and rose to his feet on his roost in the tree and looked around desperately.

Claire stood beside her bike at the opening at the front of the school and also looked around wildly. He speculated that maybe she understood that the thunder was not from the sky itself. He crouched, and prepared himself for whatever may come. She was making a run for it. She ran a few paces alongside her bike and leapt sideways into the seat, propelling herself by a swift step on the pedal. He noted that she had more grace on two wheels than he did while he scanned the grey sky overhead. The screams from opposing directions was his cue, and he leapt from the tree and intervened. He closed the distance and stopped only to spread his arms with his back to her. The talons reached out for his limbs and the ground disappeared from beneath his feet.

He did it. If nothing else, he bought her time. Perhaps she could make it home. Perhaps she'd never be alone again. Perhaps when the Stalkling brought him to its lair he could take the training he'd been given and put it to good use. The idea faded slowly with the oxygen in the air. "Where are you taking me," he called out groggily. It shrieked angrily at him. He did just cost it its meal. The idea of combat died in a flash as the ground met him once more. He clambered to his feet, color returning to his vision. It screeched at him again, its beak inches from him. He swung a fist a second too late as it took off once more. He found a wall of earth in front of him. All around him. A pit?! "Come back! I'm not done with you!" He staggered, light headed, and whipped out the daggers and stabbed them into the soft earth. They pulled out when he applied his weight. He tried again, angling down to keep them from slipping, aiming to scale the wall with his makeshift picks, but with all the mud they weren't going to hold. The sides of the pit were too steep to run, too far to apply opposing force, too high to jump, but not so deep that when the predator came back she couldn't reach him. If only he thought to pack rope in his bag. But then how would he secure it? He sheathed his daggers and crouched in the corner.

"Troll genes, don't fail me now." He leapt as high as he could manage, kicking at the earth in front of him. His toes dug straight through the mud and slipped under him. He fell back, splashing into mud. He snarled and prepared himself to crouch again. The Stalkling wouldn't stop at him. It was going for Claire first, and even if Claire couldn't make it to safety in time, it wouldn't stop then. Anyone caught alone would be victim to its appetite. If having known this he failed to prevent it, their deaths would be his fault. He leapt from his position, clawed at the earth, grasped the shredded roots he felt under his fingers. He fell flat on his back and growled in frustration. Let a troll find him. Heck, let it be the Trollhunter and this mess would end. He roared for anyone to hear him but was drowned out by the crack of lightning overhead. He took out a throwing knife to see if it might do better. Once more it slipped out easily from the earth, so he kneeled in the mud and scraped at the earth to make footholds. A spoon would have done a better job, but it was an idea and the only one he had right now. When he dug a gauge deep enough to fit his foot he gave it a try. The earth crumbled away under his weight. Frustrated he stabbed at the wall repeatedly until his strength was gone and he slid back down into the mud.

Even if he could dispatch a Stalkling, Bular would stop at nothing to get the Trollhunter. Catch one troll and they could resume their century old duel and free papa skullcrusher. Dad and son would reunite and everything would be honky dory. Stupid Trollhunter. Just lose and this would be over. Changelings wouldn't have to hide in the shadows anymore. No more babies would be taken. Heck, the ones in the nursery wouldn't have to stay there anymore. Maybe they could be taken to the surface, the youngest ones returned to their families. They would experience what it would be like to be human. He could go back to living like a human. If changelings didn't have to hide anymore, neither would he. It may be a shock at first, but maybe he could go home and see his mom. Go to school with Toby and Party Monster or something. He imagined Stricklander and Nomura carrying on their daily lives in troll form, no one flinching at them for their appearances. He was dreaming. What a pleasant dream this turned into, where he wasn't awaiting death in a pit.

•••

It was dark when he woke up, shuddering in his drenched garments, the cloak pulling at his neck under the weight of the water. He blinked in the darkness, perceiving the depth of the pool of water sitting in the pit. The silence above told him the storm was finally over. He heard a drip beside him and slowly lifted his head. Above him was the silhouette of an orb with large ears twitching. It drew back. Then a silhouette of a man's head leaned over.

"...Strickler?"

"Did you really think you could singlehandedly dispatch a Stalkling?"

"No. But I had to do something," he groaned. His voice was weak.

"Atta boy." A cord unrolled, gently patting the surface of the wall and splashing into the puddle. A bowline knot was tied at the end. Strickler instructed him on how to safely put himself into the loop to be pulled up. Near the top Strickler switched to drawing Jim up by the hand and helping him to his feet. "You're a right mess," he observed. Jim's head hung low, weak and defeated. To his surprise Strickler wrapped his arms around him, even soiling his own suit to do so. "Let's get you back home." Jim wanted to refuse, he didn't want to be trapped again in a labyrinth of two faces and pale chambers, but he knew it was a losing battle. Two days on the surface and he was almost troll chow.


	14. Call of the Goblin King III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own TrollHunters. Tunafishprincess has been a phenomenal beta reader, and a huge motivator for this story getting published. Referenced works include the movie Labyrinth directed by Jim Henson, the book TrollHunters by Guillermo del Toro and Daniel Kraus, and the book The Adventure Begins by Richard Ashley Hamilton.  
> Words spoken in Trollish are italicized.

Strickler led him back through the sewers to the Order, surfacing outside of the travel agency. Jim's head hung low the whole time, heavy with the burden of failure, though his eyes would drift to the turns and twists not taken, counting them as emergency exits if he was to escape the Order before it was too late. But he was too tired to run anymore. He didn't remember getting in the shower. He didn't remember dressing. He didn't remember which way he went to the office where he sat across from Strickler. The mug was warm in his hands, though the hot chocolate was weak and watery. His body felt like it radiated warmth, finally having dry clothes on again. The last few days felt like a dream now, like a world far away, and this was reality. Strickler in front of him, quietly observing. The black stone tiles. The cold metal chair. The white led lighting softened by the curvature of the beams that outlined the almond shape of the halls were cold compared to the older overhead lamps in this room. The new atmosphere helped him to dissociate from the nightmare, though the sensation of it was still fresh.

"What's on your mind," Strickler probed softly.

Involuntarily Jim's eyes watered in response as he tried to make his voice obey him. "I couldn't…" he gulped. His throat was dry and wet at the same time. "I couldn't save her-" he barely whispered the last word. He put his shaking mug on the table beside them, pressed his warmed palms to his face to contain the tears that cascaded, and rested his weight on his elbows he propped on his knees. He barely noticed a hand on his shoulder or box of tissues held in front of him.

"You carry the world on your shoulders, young Atlas. You can't save everyone." Jim wept bitterly, the nightmare fresh again. He choked on the fluids in his throat trying to reclaim his voice. He yanked tissues from the box to wipe his nose and eyes. Sufficient anger built up and he released it in a blubbering rant.

"What was he thinking summoning a Stalkling? Isn't he centuries old? He should know better! It's- it's careless and- and stupid-"

Strickler couldn't help but chuckle softy, setting the box back on the table. "Indeed. And you?" Jim finally glanced up, wiping an eye to see past the glare of his tears. His neck strained with the added weight of his horns. Merely existing felt exhausting. "Even at your youthful age, you should know better than to take on a stalkling."

"I had to-"

Strickler leaned back and crossed a leg over the other, hands steepled, smirking knowingly. "Bular is invested in establishing his father's reign. Gunmar has been exiled for centuries. The Trollhunter discovered our work and almost ruined the labors of many years and many changelings. Bular made a decision out of desperation. As did you."

"But it's different," Jim defied. How could Strickler be making comparisons between him and a man eating monster?

"Is it? I know you have feelings for Claire. You may not have a father that you're close to, but you do understand what it means to act out of love. How blinding it is."

"He risked exposing the Order," he accused.

"And you didn't?" Jim hung his head again in shame. He was reckless. Her parents almost discovered them because of his carelessness. Claire undoubtedly saw him. Strickler hummed to himself softly. "You're going to be a great leader." He looked back up at Strickler quizzically, ice blue eyes rimmed in red and pupils slitted like a serpent. "Your actions, though reckless, were well founded. You're absolutely right that it was foolish to summon a stalkling. You had the courage to take it on, and the hardiness to survive. And the goblins tell me how you've been tending to them. I think it may be time for a promotion."

Jim was bewildered. "I snuck out of the Order. I messed up. A lot. What do you mean, promotion?"

Strickler's smile was warm and knowing. "You think I didn't know where you were at all times? It was a test. I have made all the secrets of the Order accessible to you. If I intended to keep you in the dark, you would not be in possession of the Looking Glass inside these walls. I knew you had potential, but I had to know what your inclinations would be with the knowledge available to you."

"What knowledge? We're building a bridge to free Gunmar and we need the Trollhunter to do it. That's all I know."

"That's merely a facet of our intentions. You know about how the Order functions, how we spread our roots and the connections we have, our means of communication. It was literally left on the table for you." Jim remembered documents left in plain sight in the offices where the changelings were working. It did seem too easy to spy in a spy headquarter.

"Why?"

"You have the makings of a leader in you, Jim. I want you to lead the changelings someday."

"Me?! I'm-" he struggled to prioritize all the reasons why that was not a good idea. "They're not going to trust a bastard half breed. I can't even shape shift. My only experience is goblins. I'm only fifteen-"

"Sixteen."

He halted. He completely forgot about his birthday. What day was it? It didn't matter, it passed without incident or flashbacks. "Not even a century old," he quoted Coach.

"I will train you. You'll start off as an apprentice, and under my wing you will be protected, and the changelings will learn to see what I see in you and respect you." His gaze dipped with his next words. "Were something to happen to me, I desire to know that the Order is in good hands, of someone who looks out for the well-being of all the members, and not for the individuals own gain. I would have no such fear if that individual were to be you." At the last sentence his eyes met Jim's again, something deep lurking in the meaning of his gaze.

"What do you mean if something happens to you?" Jim felt concern beyond his own safety this time, something deep that may have been triggered by the incident with Claire.

Strickler scoffed dismissively. Casually he responded. "We're in a war, Atlas. Casualties are inevitable. You did hear about Groe, didn't you? And that Nomura was compromised?" Nonchalantly he sighed. "It's only a matter of time. Speaking of timing, I believe tonight would be opportune for you to meet our allies."

"Bular?" Jim was worried. Approximately two bites, and the security guard was unrecognizable. He paled from the memory.

"As well as Gunmar, if all goes according to plan."

"I don't know if I'm ready for that."

"It is for your safety that you are introduced to them early, or they will never respect you."

"I get it. I'm familiar with the consequences."

Strickler frowned, but quickly replaced his reaction with one of assurance, reaching for Jim's hand. "I'm proud of the changeling you've become. You have a big night ahead of you. Get some rest."

Recognizing he'd been dismissed, he gathered his tissues and disposed of them under the desk. He grabbed a handful more to stuff in his pockets and his mug of chocolate water. The door opened automatically with a hiss and he stepped out, but leaned back in for a last word.

"Which way is it to my room?"

•••

He felt heavy as he collapsed back onto his bed fully clothed, kicking off only his shoes. In a moment he curled his legs to his chest and the tears flowed again. He let her down. All that time he spent lurking in the shadows, heart in his throat at the sound of every nearby footstep or flap of a wing, and he couldn't save her.

He should have told her. Even if he didn't tell her who he was, he could have told her a flying troll creature was stalking her and to never be alone. He could have told her even before then- what harm would there have been in telling her about the existence of trolls and changelings? It didn't matter, she wouldn't have believed him.

At least, not until it was too late.

But she could have had a chance. He could have given her that chance. How rotten it was to be full of secrets that could save lives.

He reached into his satchel for the Glass and tried to end the dissociative episode, grounding himself with the smooth, cool touch. It didn't work this time, his vision distorted by fresh tears, energy and focus sapped. He lay back down holding the heavy object on his chest. He'd seen her face in it countless times in the last day, and he struggled to convince himself that it would be the last. Sleep found him mourning in his dreams, forever chasing the light, forever restrained by the shadows.

•••

There was a soft rapping at the door, a small click as it opened. "Jim," a voice called softly. He didn't come to until his bed sank. "It's time. We're running late." Slowly and with great effort he sat up. Strickler awaited him, suit cleaned from the morning's muddy embrace.

"Right, the meeting." He rubbed his eyes and grabbed a used tissue from beside his pillow to wipe his nose. "I'm alright," he assured, and Strickler rose to wait just outside the door. Jim donned his cloak and satchel but ignored the mask. He was an apprentice now, the changelings were going to have to learn to recognize and become accustomed to him. He kept his hood down while in the headquarters.

•••

The air was crisp, but the smell of rain had faded, the asphalt dried. The clouds on the horizon looked crisp in the weak moonlight. Jim considered that there was something comfortably familiar about riding with his old teacher in the night. He was too emotionally drained to remember to hate Strickler, and his opinion of him might have been influenced by Strickler's nurturing demeanor, reminding Jim of back when he attended school.

Strickler broke the peace with some professional information shared in a conversational tone. "We have a new member, but he won't be able to join us tonight. I'll introduce you two soon."

"Is it Party monster?"

"How did you come to know him by that name?"

"The goblins told me about him."

"That makes more sense." They pulled up to the front of the museum. It occurred to Jim that he would prefer the painfully awkward conversation with his mentor about his moral alignment here in the car over meeting a man eater face to face in the already ominous museum. Knowing he was doomed to have to enter that structure anyway, he resolved to not appear like a coward as he did it. Just like with the goblins, he tried not to be afraid.

•••

When the door to the museum closed behind them Jim dropped the hood. There was an air of anticipation. He recalled the terrifying gaze shrunken to fit in the Looking Glass the first day he used it. Now he was meeting Bular face to face, and as an apprentice to Strickler.

Bular the Vicious was intimidating in the flesh- er, stone. Stone flesh. Jim saw his profile first, his attention caught first by the glow in Bular's eyes, the fissures in his face and horns from battle, the jaw bone that made the handle of his stone swords sheathed behind his head. His size. The sound of gravel as he breathed. Bular turned at the approach of Strickler. "We've been waiting." His eyes then snapped to Jim, who willed himself not to flinch. With threatening inflections he challenged, "What is this?"

"The half breed," Nomura quickly supplied, her own tone condescending.

"My apprentice," Strickler corrected.

Jim stepped forward and bowed, pleading with his body in his mind not to shake. _"It's a pleasure to behold your might, your excellence."_

Bular snorted. "Rise. Save the praise for my father. The true ruler."

Until then, a man Jim didn't recognize had regarded him with suspicion, but was suddenly revitalized. "Then let's party!" Giddy, the man with matching suit and fedora rest a suitcase on the faded tile and clicked it open. "The Eyestone!" The large triangle levitated in smoky blue magic and drifted to where the keystone of the bridge should be. The glowing vapors fused it to the structure and dissipated. "The last piece," he narrated, "It is complete!"

They waited. The new man with glasses giggled. Nomura humphed proudly. Fragwa made some sort of noise to express enthusiasm. Bular growled.

"It's not working."

"Bular, patience," the man cooed.

Jim glanced around. The little bit of color visible on the banners seemed to be leached from the fabrics before his eyes, along with any light left in the room. He heard cases in the exhibits nearby shatter. He wondered for Nomura's sake if any pottery was compromised. The room began to light up once more from the shards of magical light that manifested under the bridge, overlapping in a pattern like fractures in glass, the brightest point expanding in an explosion that forced an otherworldly wind at the small party. Everyone ducked their heads at the sudden rush and gasped when they witnessed the silhouette of a dark troll, broad horns extending beyond the frame of the portal. "Son," it called out.

"Father!" In that moment Jim found himself feeling a pang of jealousy toward Bular, and immediately dismissed it. This was someone else's dream, not his own.

"His voice is so scary," the new man praised.

"Father, your release from exile will soon be at hand-"

Strickler muscled his way in front to address Gunmar. Jim recognized the power move to shift focus back to the commitment of the changelings, to not be forgotten in this moment of victory, to ensure their safety in reward for their loyalty. "Your dark excellence, I am humbly in your service." Bular growled. Jim hoped Strickler didn't underestimate the very real threat that stood adjacent to them. "Killahead bridge is nearly complete and you will soon be free."

"This pleases me Stricklander. You have done well."

Strickler began again when Bular forced him aside. "Father, we know the whereabouts of the amulet and this impure has ordered me not to retrieve it-"

"Your excellence, killing the Trollhunter at this time would bring too much scrutiny upon us."

"And he has forbidden me to take the amulet," he continued to tattle.

"Lord Gunmar, until the bridge is complete it is ill-advised to-"

"Enough!" The ethereal voice bellowed throughout the museum. The new guy visibly shivered with glee. "You make my exile all the more intolerable for your bickering. Stricklander is correct. Nothing is more important than preventing our plan from being discovered by our enemies. But from now on, my son will be giving the orders. I will speak with my son alone. Now!" The creature visibly forced a fist against the surface of the portal, causing it to cackle with energy as the magic conducted was disrupted.

"As you wish, your greatness." Strickler did a slight bow and turned to depart, nodding at Jim to follow. Fragwa blew a raspberry behind them, and Nomura and new guy smirked after them.

•••

"Who was the new guy?" Jim waited until they were in the car to probe.

"Otto Scaarbach. Next in charge in the Order. Well," he smiled at Jim before he started driving, "after you now."

"Is that why he looked at me like that. I'm toast."

"Nonsense. But it would be in your best interest for us to ensure you're better equipped. Now I will share with you something you are to never disclose to anyone." Jim nodded gravely. "Scaarbach is a polymorph. Do not trust anyone with anything, even myself. Do you understand?"

Jim's eyes bulged. "A real polymorph? Him? How can anyone know anything if everything's a secret?! How can I know if you're you? We could use a code word or something, right?"

Strickler exhaled irritably. Jim could tell he was unnerved about the meeting still. "You can pick something. He's worked with me too long, but he barely knows you."

Jim frowned and considered. "Petro lignum."

"Petrified wood? I'm sure he won't guess that. Good one." Jim's mind wandered to the stone in his satchel. He missed Toby, and recalled the code words they used to come up with. They were never in Latin, but he thought Strickler would appreciate it.

Strickler was visibly tense the rest of the ride, making Jim wonder if what he witnessed was equivalent to a demotion. They had to get back into the trolls good graces for the safety of the changelings.

•••

"Rule number one: there is honor among assassins."

"There is honor among assassins," Jim repeated. It winded him to answer to a lecture in the middle of combat. He swung his metal baton to deflect Strickler's own. Strickler's voice growled in his troll form's throat. "Rule number two: rule number one is a lie."

"What?! Oof!" He took a direct hit to the gut. Was he about to faint or was his vision going black from rage?

"There is no such thing as honor." Jim barely ducked the next swing, but the familiar rage recalibrated his coordination. His reflexes began to improve again. "Rule number three: everyone and everything is a tool to get what you want."

Jim grunted as he ducked and dodged. "Everyone. And everything. Is a tool to get what I want," he huffed. His own voice grew deeper and rumbled.

"And what do you want, Atlas?"

"I want you to  _die_." He charged at his query, the glowing eyes the cross hairs on his target.

He swung the metal baton, his target barely dodged and swat the weapon aside. Jim used the momentum to swing the other end of the weapon. His opponent laughed. This was still just training to his mentor. That made him angrier.

"Embrace that anger. Release it." He obeyed. The rapid cacophony of the pipes beating together accelerated in rhythm with his heart.

The music stopped with a clatter. Jim was thrown onto his hands and knees. The empowering darkness subsided, and he became a weak child. A failure. It took some time for the more familiar part of himself to process what just took place. He genuinely intended to kill his history teacher- turned- mentor. The pain from losing his friendship with Toby, not being there to protect his mother, failing to protect Claire, manifested into a monster in himself. Or awakened it. He wasn't sure which was a greater loss- that he didn't recognize nor could he control himself, or that he was too weak to exact his revenge.

He finally caught his breath, and noticed the stare from his mentor boring into him. "You took everything from me. Everything that made me me, you took that from me."

"You are what you are." His instructor's small words enraged him again, but he was too exhausted to act on it except with his voice.

"What is left of me?! What am I, Strickler? I'm not human. I'm not changeling. How can you say that this is where I belong?"

Strickler held out a hand. Reluctantly Jim took it. He didn't understand why Strickler looked at him that way, like there was something he thought he recognized. "The Pale Lady has plans for you."

 _Screw your Pale Lady_ , he thought. There was something funny about the thought, but he didn't dare repeat it out loud.


	15. The Light Clad One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own TrollHunters. Tunafishprincess has been a phenomenal beta reader, and a huge motivator for this story getting published. Referenced works include the movie Labyrinth directed by Jim Henson, the book TrollHunters by Guillermo del Toro and Daniel Kraus, and the book The Adventure Begins by Richard Ashley Hamilton.  
> Words spoken in Trollish are italicized.

A knock on the door made Jim pause from his reading. "Come in." Strickler stepped in, currently in his human form. Jim stopped him before he could speak. "Petro."

Strickler exhaled and smirked. "Lignum." Jim nodded from behind another ancient volume, reclined in bed with his pillow supporting his back. Even if he couldn't trust Strickler, there was some peace of mind in knowing that Strickler was Strickler. "I bring some news." He shut the door behind him and took the chair from Jim's desk, stopping to admire the doodles of Vespas in Jim's notebook. He turned the chair to face Jim.

"Yeah, what is it?" In answer, Strickler withdrew from inside his jacket a metal circle that emanated a blue light. He tossed it in Jim's direction. "... what is it?" He read the writing around the rim. "For the glory of Merlin- Merlin's amulet? You got it?!"

"The one and only."

"How?!" The book was forgotten as he sat up and crossed his legs under it, fixated on the medallion. He had in his hands an actual magical artifact- true, tangible evidence that there was magic in this world.

"We have our means. I thought you'd appreciate having a hand in creating history. Tomorrow, we free Gunmar. You're one of the select few invited to attend the ceremony."

"Wow. This is real." He continued to turn the gizmo over in his hands and then handed it back. Suddenly, Strickler's cryptic warnings and prophesies weren't just hollow phrases to control him. There was a meaning to the madness, so to speak.

"I'll come back to take you after your training with Coach Bernie."

"I'll be ready."

When he left, Jim found that he couldn't stand to read for the moment. He moved the chair back to the desk and turned the page of his notebook. He'd doodled pictures of his mom, Toby, and Claire. If they can free Gunmar from the Darklands, James Lake Jr could come back to life, surely, albeit with a new look. Would he have to choose between going back to his own life and leading the Order? Humans and changelings? It seemed like the kind of choice Strickler would force on him.

•••

His dreams were strange. The light he'd pursued was obstructed. Eclipsed. It felt related, but something about the dream made him feel repulsed upon waking.

•••

He should be excited about freeing Gunmar. Scar-back or whatever his name is sure was. It's what the changelings wanted. It's what the Pale Lady wanted.

What would happen to the people, though?

He determined he had to get through that cryptic book if he wanted to find out. He took it with him when he went to the cafeteria to eat. To his surprise, Guinevere was there at dinner time. He didn't remember ever seeing her here this late.

"Hey, Gwen!"

"Ah, the apprentice! How's your Trollish coming along?"

"It's good, I think I'm finally getting the hang of reading it at least." He gestured to the book under his arm. "For the most part I haven't had to look words up."

"Excellent! Though I wonder why you insist on reading that book in particular."

Jim took a seat across from her and thumbed through to his bookmark. "I know we need Gunmar to start the Eternal Night, but I don't know what's going to happen after that. With the humans, I mean."

"Easy, it'll be an all you can eat buffet. But you haven't had human before, have you," she remarked in response to his wide eyes, her own green ones sparkling with hunger. "I suppose that after growing up as one you might even consider it cannibalism. But it isn't, you're not human. And anyway, after spending all that time in the Darklands, with no Heartstone, and without so much as cat meat, the Gumm Gumms will need to get their strength back. My dear, has Stricklander told you nothing of this?"

The nonchalance with which she spoke made him feel sick. He was suddenly cold and clammy and shaking. His new friend proved to be just as two faced as Strickler. He had flashbacks to the night under the museum, when he couldn't save the security guard from Bular's hunger. He was surrounded by monstrous masqueraders, and the one who had given him occasional reprieve from his solitude was not content with eating just tacos. His own appetite was gone now; he just wanted to leave.

"I need to go to training."

"It's that time, isn't it? Knock 'em out!" He couldn't bring himself to respond, just escape, dumbfounded.

He leaned heavily against the door he shut behind himself. He had to get out of this mess. Tonight. Tonight they were going to free the man eating monster- an army of man eating monsters, and he was supposed to help. He thought about the accursed amulet he'd held in his hands. He wanted no hand in this crime.

He packed the Looking Glass, silvered spectacles, Strickler's spare blade, and his journal and pencil. He should have grabbed extra food from the cafeteria. No, the opportunity to get more food would come later. He had no other possessions, but at least this way he could travel light.

•••

After training, he took his time in the shower, waiting for Coach and Jacques to leave. When he was alone he donned the familiar leather armor and attached the throwing knives and daggers in sheaths and slid away under the grate. He was slow for the sake of caution, ensuring that neither goblin nor troll discovered him by scouting ahead with the glass. He couldn't have his plan fail.

He had no hope in stopping an apocalypse; he alone could not evacuate a town. But if he got some help, perhaps he could save a handful or at least give the humans some chance to fight back. Claire was a constant reminder that he had to use the knowledge he possessed or be responsible for the death of the victims of ignorance. The only person he could think he could easily find and who would listen was Toby. He'd show Toby the rock he'd gifted him to prove he was Jim, and his deformities would be enough to prove that trolls existed.

He slipped through the grate from the sewers, and breathed deep the scent of the night. It felt like it had been forever since he breathed fresh air. The stars twinkled in greeting. He dashed up the slope of the canal into the patch of woods on the way home. Home. He would need Toby's help to break the news to his mom without her having a heart attack from seeing her dead son with horns growing from his head. Hopefully she wasn't working at the hospital tonight. He smiled briefly to himself, remembering Strickler's reaction when Jim thought he was Satan's spawn. And then something in his chest ached, as if he'd been sobbing for days.  _Just growing pains_ , he told himself.

He had to be quick. The cool air of the night kissed his cheeks as he hurried between the trees. Besides his oversized hood, he felt exposed and free, landscape stretching from him on all sides, unlike in the sewers. He was fulfilling a purpose, as fruitless as it was. And he would see Toby. Gosh, he missed Toby.

The sensation of freedom ended with a yank around his neck. In his shock he went limp. He wondered how on Earth a tree snatched his cloak mid run. He dropped hard on his back, groaned from the pain, and then yelped. Above him was a living, mossy boulder with solid black eyes like jet stone. It snarled like an earthquake. It's toothy fissure of a maw was large enough to consume Jim.

He was almost there. He could see the fence to Toby's house. If he called out, he could be heard. He'd failed, and he'd never see his friend again.

"Ah hah!" another cried out. "Good catch, AAARRRGGHH!" Wait, that name, he'd read it somewhere. In the Ga-Huel? A smaller troll, though taller than Jim, stepped out of the shadows to examine their prey. Were the Gumm Gumms already released, was he too late? "Now, to figure what it is we… great gronka morka!" The troll had thrown back Jim's hood and leapt back in alarm.

"What is it?" The large troll bellowed.

"I don't rightly know! But we can't turn it loose, we have to show Vendel."

" _Unhand me, barbarians_." He spoke in a harsh whisper in Trollish to prevent humans from being drawn to the commotion. Trolls had hidden from humans for centuries, and the security guard paid the price of knowing too much.

"Don't even think of escaping, or my good comrade will have you torn limb from limb!"

"Limb from limb," AAARRRGGHH! growled.

"Onward, my fearsome friend," the blue one instructed. Clutching Jim in such a way that he had no hope to grab a dagger off his person, the large troll carried Jim back toward the canals. At this realization, Jim's body hung limp. He had always been thorough to scout ahead in the sewers. He should have kept the habit on the surface also. They carried him toward the bridgeat the canals. It occurred to him that in stories trolls always lived under bridges. Why didn't he think about that before? His eyes bulged when the four armed, six eyed troll took a bulky rock- dagger and dragged it in a glowing arc before punching the cement, which crumbled into loose stone suspended in a barrier.

His eyes flew back to the nearby grate he'd emerged from minutes before. He could fit. They couldn't. He made a last ditch effort to ditch his captors. He surprised the one that restrained him and slipped out of his grasp and bolted.

He was feet away from escape when they caught up and knocked him out.

•••

He woke up. His body ached, but his limbs were still attached, though likely bruised. He pat his head, then the uncomfortable metal bars underneath his curled body. He sat up and groaned. He was in a cage. Probably thrown in, by the way his head ached around the horns. He adjusted his hood and pat his person. They took his satchel and blades.

He noticed that the blue troll appraised his possessions. "By Deya's grace! It's a good thing we stopped it, AAARRRGGHH!, it has a Looking Glass! It must be a spy." He rummaged through more of Jim's things and withdrew the mask, charcoal grey with the black insignia of the two faces. "Great grumbling gruesome. It's one of  _them_. I knew it was dangerous, bringing a Dream Stone into Trollmarket."

The boulder of a troll glared at Jim with what were now crisp green eyes, calculating him. Probably calculating the easiest way to tear him. The blue troll turned away to further examine the satchel, four grabby paws sorting through the numerous compartments for Jim's only few possessions. The large one mumbled something and departed. Jim touched his ankle. They didn't find the spare blade he'd tucked in his sock after training. He slipped it into his sleeve and folded his arm at the wrist to keep it sheathed. One stray blade. How could he set himself free with this? He could probably figure out the lock, it didn't look that elaborate, but he was surrounded by guards that were too curious about what he was for there to be any chance of distracting them. He calculated them, two big brutes with scepters. He couldn't overpower them, but he could certainly outrun them. And with the big one called AAARRRGGHH! out of the picture for the moment, he could make it out of the room. But what was beyond it?

"What is this blasphemy I'm hearing? An anomaly of a creature sent to spy on us?" A large, pale troll with paler eyes strolled powerfully into the chamber, horns spread wider than the cage. Jim yanked his hood further down over his face. He was getting tired of being gawked at. "What… is this, Blinkous Galadrigal?"

"I'm… not sure," four arms answered.

"Well, find out. Does it speak?"

"Trollish. I'm not sure it understands English."

"I suppose it is helpful the Trollhunter has been getting lessons from that little monster. We'll subject it to interrogation." Troll interrogation? With the Trollhunter? Could this get any worse?

He stood up and rattled the cage door. He panicked like the trapped animal he was, waiting to be slaughtered. Even if he broke out, how would he escape? He'd have to steal the key off of four arms and slip past this group of security, and whatever other security there was throughout the place. Trolls were much bigger than changelings, he realized, and he imagined being surrounded by Coaches in troll form. He could barely survive training with the one in human form. Instinct suddenly told him to draw his head back. Coach was right, training was never over. "You missed," one troll barked at another. "I'll show you how it's done." More projectiles rained on the cage. Were they throwing small animals at him along with rocks? What heartless brutes! He snarled in retaliation, not being in a position to do much more. "Impure!" They continued to insult him and threaten that the Trollhunter would make a dish out of him he didn't recognize the name of, but it sounded like it required finely minced ingredients.

"Back away from the prisoner." That voice. It was the wrong voice in the wrong place. There was no reason to hear that voice, especially here. While keeping his face hidden in the hood, he glanced upward past the troll guards that made sport of him. In a flash of light and swirl of metal and magic that matched the blue shock in her hair, the Trollhunter approached. Her presence commanded respect from the stone beings. She bore the expression of a leader confronting the threat to her tribe when she looked at his cage.

 _"It would be an honor to be felled by your radiance,"_  he sighed in troll, the language itself growling from his throat. Here was the light he'd pursued in his dreams, and she was here to kill him. After interrogation, of course, however the trolls would perform it. His changeling education would be the death of him.

She stopped and looked at him, wide eyed. "I don't intend to kill you." First of all, she understood him. Crap. Second, the sworn enemy of the changelings, the warrior who killed Gladys, was the one standing opposite the bars from him.

_"You understand the stone tongue?"_

_"Enough to understand your answers."_  She tilted her head to the side, eyes squinting as she tried to see him in the gloom. The room was bright enough for a troll, but not for a human. "You seem familiar…  _who are you?"_

_"I am what I am."_

A bystander insulted him in Trollish and she stopped him.  _"You know where my brother is? Tell me."_ There was that fire of a warrior ready to slay.

_"Your brother?"_

_"He was switched with a changeling after Jim told the Order. He's a changeling himself, isn't he? A trickster, like you."_

_"... Jim wouldn't do that."_  Let her believe Jim was dead. Let her believe Jim was human. But don't let her think he would ever betray her like that.  _"Your brother is safe. He's in the Darklands."_

 _"How can he be safe?"_  She was incredulous, and her voice betrayed her emotion. Without the bars between them he was sure she would have been willing to sling that broadsword at him.

_"The changeling nursery is the safest place in the world. Not a scratch will come to him. … I'm sorry, I didn't know."_

_"... you didn't take him?"_

_"No."_

_"Why were you following me? You saved me from the stalkling. Why?"_

_"I didn't know you were the Trollhunter_ ," he said truthfully.

 _"You're very strange."_  She stepped closer to get a better look at him. "Jim." … What? "It's you, isn't it?"

_"Who is this Jim you speak of? My name is Jareth."_

"A rose by any other name would smell just as sweet." His glowing eyes widened, pupils dilating.  _Stop tormenting yourself. Jim died. You're just a blasphemous existence of a freak._

 _"Slay me, light clad one. I know that is your purpose. If you don't, they will,"_  he gestured to the guards,  _"and if they don't, the Gumm Gumms will. If you are merciful, you will end me now."_  If he could get her to open the cage, he could make a run for it.

She shook her head. He saw the gears turning, but couldn't read her thoughts.

There were footsteps approaching, steps that didn't grate like stone on stone. Human steps. More humans down here? He frowned in the direction of the entrance of the chamber. His breathing stopped the second he saw a familiar face, a bright face in this dark place.

"Jimbo?"

Toby. Toby ran to the cage as fast as he could manage, the large troll that captured Jim strolled in behind him. Jim was too weak to stand. He fell to his knees against the bars. "Oh my gosh, oh my gosh. Jimbo! You're not dead! You're not dead!"

"It's you! It's you, Tobes, it's really you!" All pretenses were dropped, and he reached through the bars to touch his friend, who in turn pulled at his hands and arms to convince himself this was not a ghost.

"Jimbo, I'm so glad you're okay!" Then, seeing Jim up close, continued to ask, "You are okay, right? Are you? Are you okay? You okay?"

"Tobes, I'm- I'm fine. I've been better." Suddenly it was like a weight lifted from his chest. Toby was okay. Toby recognized him, even across a dimly lit room. He wasn't repulsed or terrified of him. Eventually Jim remembered the circumstances of their rendezvous, and looked up to see Claire smirking, arms crossed knowingly while she watched everything unfold. "I'm sorry I lied, Claire. I didn't want you to remember me like this."

"Are you kidding?! I thought Strickler had killed you!"

"You wouldn't be far from the truth."

She was visibly relieved, eyes brimming with water. "Let down our guest," she commanded.

"Master Claire, are you out of your mind?!" The one called Blinkous threw a fit. "Just because it speaks English does not make this your friend. It could very well be a changeling impersonating your friend. He even carries one of their masks."

"No, Blinky, it's definitely him. Did you hear his suicide speech? Only Jim would talk like that."

"It's definitely Jimbo," Toby agreed. "I'd recognize him anywhere!" They lowered the cage and opened the door. Warily he stepped out, glaring at the guard trolls until he was out of their immediate reach.

Toby jumped him, pinning him in embrace. Jim could feel himself relaxing enough that he laughed involuntarily. "I missed you, Tobes."

"I can't believe you're alive! I mean, I can, I knew that explosion was hoaky, but we didn't know if he actually killed you after that."

Claire beamed at Jim, eyes as bright as her armor. "You're with friends now, Jim. You can drop the hood."

At that his face fell. He glanced at everyone's faces, memorizing their expressions before he revealed his true nature. Slowly he drew back the fabric. A tear that had threatened to fall finally escaped from Claire's bright eyes. Toby's eyes widened, and he gasped deeply. Softly Claire spoke. "What have they done to you?"

He shrugged meekly. "They didn't. This… this is the real me."

Toby tapped at his horns. "Woah, stone. Like a troll."

Finally Blinkous spoke up and apologetically offered Jim his satchel back. "And what exactly are you, Jim?"

He sighed and avoided eye contact. "I think my father was a changeling. I'm a hybrid."

"That's possible?" Blinky turned to AAARRRGGHH!, who shrugged.

"You're mom!" Toby jumped up repeatedly. "You're mom still thinks you're dead!"

"It's going to have to stay that way," Jim exhaled. "At least until after we figure out how to stop the release of Gunmar, or there would be no point." Claire placed an armored hand on Jim's shoulder.

"We'll find a way. We'll stop Gunmar and find a way to let your mom know you're okay." He smiled at her reassurance and noticed a tear escaped his own eyes. She tugged his arm, the armor on her own dissolving while she caught the glowing blue amulet that fell from her chest. "C'mon, let's show you around."

"You've got to see the place, Jimbo. It's awesome sauce!"

Jim allowed himself be led by his friends.


	16. A Stone Turned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own TrollHunters. Tunafishprincess has been a phenomenal beta reader, and a huge motivator for this story getting published. Referenced works include the movie Labyrinth directed by Jim Henson, the book TrollHunters by Guillermo del Toro and Daniel Kraus, and the book The Adventure Begins by Richard Ashley Hamilton.  
> Words spoken in Trollish are italicized.

The heart of the city was a thriving maze of stairs, bridges, and ledges that even overflowed to stretch across the cavern, which glowed with a golden haze. Every surface sparkled with the lights from residences carved into the structures. Humble carts and shops offered services like stone-flesh carving, goods like Bagdwella's fine gifts, and hang outs like the Troll Pub. "That's Rotgut's, where we got the gaggletack, and that's where we caught the gnome that's now living in Toby's dollhouse," Claire explained.

"Nana's dollhouse," Toby corrected. "Check it out, there's peridot, topaz, cassiterite…"

Jim wanted to share with Toby what he'd learned about how trolls used the stones, but the surrounding gossip was distracting.

"Impure."

"What is that?"

"That's not even a fleshbag."

They seemed to be crowding closer around Jim and his companions. His pace slowed as he looked back in the direction they'd come from. There were fewer trolls back in the prison room. He felt a tug at his arm. Claire had wrapped hers around his elbow. Her smile was kind, and she called out the surrounding trolls by name and greeted them warmly, utterly disregarding their hostility to the newcomer.

"Hi, Behilda! How's business? Gundrak, good to see you again!" The topic of their whispers shifted over to the TrollHunter's willingness to escort a monster so close to their homes. She paid them no heed, confident in her standing as their guardian. If it was possible, Jim fell harder for her, for recognizing and accepting him, and for her bravery around these creatures he'd grown to fear. "You've got to see the forge," she insisted.

"Oh my gosh, Jimbo, the TrollHunters are there. Like, anyone and everyone that had ever been a Trollhunter is on display there, like a statue. But don't call them statues, Draal hates it when you do that."

"This is more than I ever imagined." They approached the Heartstone. In its glow he felt fed like a plant in the sun and spread his arms, eyes closed in pleasure as he basked in its radiance.

"Dude, are you absorbing power from the crystal? Like the trolls do?" Toby gawked at him.

"I don't know. You don't feel that?" Toby looked quizzically at the bright rock in response. "It's /so/ good to see you guys. I've missed everybody. Hey, who all knows about this? About the existence of trolls and stuff?"

Claire answered. "Darci and Mary. After rehearsal, Toby and Darci hit it off really well, so when we realized the museum curator was a changeling, we pretty much went all over town with a gaggletack to find out who was a changeling. Blinky said to check the dentist. He was close, it was the hygienist, who would have killed Toby if Darci wasn't there-" Jim looked away to hide his involuntary reaction. "I'm sorry, did you know her?"

"She was just… a friend of a friend."

Claire rested her hands on his shoulders and demanded his attention. "I'm sorry, Jim. Rule number two of being a Trollhunter is to always finish the fight. But I didn't mean to! It was in self defense, and it just… happened. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. Don't worry about it." He pressed his hands over hers before taking them off his shoulders.

"Jim, where were you? All this time we thought you were in Washington D.C., all this time we were told you were dead. Where were you?"

"I was here, in Arcadia. I went through the sewers to the museum every night, until they staged my death."

Toby rubbed his chin at the new information. "Every night? Were you helping build the bridge?"

"They didn't tell me what they were doing. I was on goblin duty."

Claire giggled. "Okay, parts are starting to make sense."

"I can't believe you're the Trollhunter. Has there ever been a human Trollhunter?"

"Never. It took some time to get everyone to warm up to me because of it."

"Like Draal," Toby specified.

"Yeah, we almost fought to the death," Claire added.

Despite the severity, Jim couldn't help but chuckle. "Sounds awfully similar to my experiences."

"Speaking of death, I thought the stalkling ate you! You jumped in front of it! I saw it grab you and take off!"

"What a coincidence. I thought it ate you, after it dumped me in a hole in the ground."

Claire laughed. "I got struck by lightning, which killed it and saved my life."

"Not doing that again," Toby recalled.

"So when you were following me, that didn't have anything to do with Enrique? Or stealing the amulet?"

"No, I was trying to make sure you were never alone so the stalkling wouldn't attack you. I won't stalk you anymore. Promise."

"You can stalk me, Jimbo."

"Thanks, Tobes." He grimaced at the thought of his future. The changelings were going to want his head for what he'd done. It was bad enough that he escaped just before he was supposed to meet with them to free Gunmar. But to be in Trollmarket, albeit not by choice, and talking to the Trollhunter herself about trying to stop Gunmar? That was treason. He had flashbacks to the agent in the office drawing a line through a name. Jim shook his head at Claire. "I don't understand. Why would you fight for the trolls? This war is going to end up killing people, shouldn't we be trying to evacuate Arcadia or something?"

"We can't do that. Trolls aren't even supposed to exist, and as long as Gunmar remains banished in the Darklands, we can keep it a secret. Besides, they need me. I was chosen by the amulet. Don't ask me why, though, I'm still trying to figure the thing out." Judging by the way she looked over Trollmarket as though it were her own kingdom, Jim assumed it didn't take an amulet to convince her to take up guardianship.

"So, Trollhunter, how are we going to stop Gunmar?"

"You tell me, spy. How do we stop Gunmar?"

He shook his head. "I thought they were going to release him tonight with the amulet. How'd you get it back?"

"I called it back."

"... then they need you. If you're the only one who can control it, they're going to come after you."

Her eyes widened at the realization, but whatever trace of concern she felt, she replaced with determination.

"We'll be safe in here for now." Claire yanked his attention back to the present with a mischievous look in her eyes. "Spar with me."

His heart rate accelerated. He wasn't sure if it was the trauma from sparring in the past or if it was the way he couldn't say no to those chocolate eyes.

"Um," he answered, and she took him by the hand and led him along to the trolls' training room.

Toby trailed after them. "Do you guys have to fight already? I just found out my best friend wasn't dead!"

In the corner of the market, Jim paused to admire the large entryway that was labeled with a neon outline of a broadsword, where Toby caught up. A hallway carved and polished from stone opened out to a massive cavern. A leveled path rose from the deep pit to traverse the room to a plateau. Large devices towered above along the walls.

"Prepare yourself for the sacred grounds, where TrollHunters are broken and remade into warriors. The Hero's Forge!" Toby bellowed. He gestured widely with his hands, and the room proudly echoed the declaration.

Jim marveled at the size and dimensions of the room. "This is like a throne room or something."

"Or something. Those are the warriors Toby talked about. When trolls are felled, they're turned to stone, so their bodies are reassembled here where they rest." She gestured at the pedestals where grey stone trolls stood in poses of valor.

"Wow. That's profound."

She cantered ahead to the weapons on display and pulled out a narrow, lightweight sword and offered it to Jim. "C'mon. I want to test your mettle." He took the weapon in hand and hung up his satchel to free up his hands. He gave the sword a twirl to figure its balance.

Toby took a seat and pulled a candy bar out of hiding to occupy himself and enrich the experience. "I'll referee," he offered.

Jim waved the rapier defensively. "I don't want to hu-" she cut him short with a swing of light, a broad sword manifesting in her hands, armored once more by magic.

"What was that?" She inquired coyly, knowing the answer. She already started to pace around him.

He smiled wide. "You asked for it." He lunged at her with a series of strikes to get a feel for her speed and trusted his own speed to draw back when he thought he'd nearly overwhelmed her. She chided him with a swift follow up. She was fast, enduring, and clever. Everything he loved about her was evident in her fighting style. She tested his reflexes with varying angles of approach, and though he didn't like giving the changeling credit, Coach had taught him well to master his reflexes. Each of them were powerful and vicious in their movements, but all the while they smiled with a glow in their eyes.

"How'd you get so good," she panted.

He leaned his palms on his knees to catch his breath. How could she breathe as well as she did under all that armor? "Are you kidding? You'd totally beat me in battle." He huffed a little more and smiled.

"You guys are so cool! Jim, how did you learn to fight like that? We went to gym together, and they did not teach us that in school!"

"I basically just had my butt handed to me over and over. I don't recommend it."

"Basically," Claire agreed.

"I've worked up an appetite just watching you. I'll be right back, I think I left some snacks at Blinky's. Don't die on me again, Jimbo."

"I don't plan on it," Jim assured as Toby jogged back across the bridge. He returned the rapier with the tools and smiled at his bag before addressing Claire. "I want to show you something."

Claire swung the broad sword behind her and it clinked onto her back before her entire ensemble dissolved in blue swirls and sparks. Jim took the silvered spectacles from his satchel. "Here," he slipped the glasses on her nose. She squinted at first. "They're not prescription."

"What are they for?"

"Watch."

He took the Looking Glass from its box and isolated the crystal, using the jellyfish motion with his hands. Her eyes darted between Scout that manifested and the glass as the distance between them increased. She extended her fingertips toward Scout, but her touch had no effect on it. "What is it doing?"

"Look into the crystal."

She obeyed, and saw the perspective of her slide side to side as the orb rolled. He switched direction, smoothly rolling it across each of his palms like he'd practiced each night when he woke up from nightmares, the same way that Nomura first showed him. He elevated it up over her head and had it orbit around her. She giggled. "This is better than watching bubbles." He tried some simple tricks, enough to impress her but not so complex that he would accidentally shatter the illusion. Her eyes followed it, amused, pausing to glimpse into the glass to see what was revealed. It was always her in focus. He couldn't take his eyes off of her.

"How did you learn to speak Troll," he asked. "You're pretty good at it."

"NotEnrique has been tutoring me, and Draal reads to me. He stays in my basement. Besides being a slimy thief, NotEnrique isn't that bad. Come to think of it, he headed home shortly before I went to see you. Maybe next time you can meet him, he's on our side."

Jim broke the illusion, weighing his next words like he weighed the glass in his hands before asking them. "You don't hate him? For replacing your brother and everything?"

"I really don't think he's a bad guy. If we're going to stop Gunmar, we need as many allies as we can get, regardless of what they are. Besides, I'll get Enrique back." She timidly combed her hair behind her ear. "Jim?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I touch your horns?"

"Um, sure…" In much the same way Strickler had done the first time, Jim bowed slightly to her. He couldn't feel the warmth of her hand on the surface, but he could sense the slight pressure of her gentle touch as she stroked his horn. To his surprise she lowered her hand to the back of his head, combed her fingers into his hair and pressed herself against him in embrace. He figured she could feel his heart thundering in his chest, even through the leather armor.

"I'm so glad you're alive, Jim. I don't know what I would have done. I just kept hoping Strickler would let it slip where you were." He let his arms wrap gingerly around her. He considered the last time he'd had a hug. There was the time Strickler found him in the pit, but before that must have been when he said goodbye to his mom. He closed his eyes to savour her touch, the smell of gardenias filling his head.

"I couldn't keep up appearances. As you can tell." After a moment she withdrew, putting distance between them. Space like between friends, but her eyes said she wanted to be closer. He wanted to be closer. She rubbed her wrist in her other hand, her expression was expectant. He should have kissed her. But he was terrified of trying to figure out his oversized teeth, and afraid he was imagining that she felt the same way he did. He tried to change the subject to ease the awkward tension. "I'm sorry I can't go to the play like I promised. Is it even still on?"

"Gotta keep up appearances." She winked. "Oh, here," she took off the glasses and started to hand them to him.

"Keep it," he pushed back. "I don't need them anymore. And you can show the trolls that they can trust me not to spy on them." She immediately donned them and smiled. The only thing Jim knew to be better than Claire's two eyes were her four eyes. "Just… you probably shouldn't let Strickler see them…" he braced himself for questions.

"Yeah, that probably wouldn't look good, knowing you, um, flaked out on the changelings. Not that I blame you."

He blinked. "You know Strickler…"

"Is a changeling," she finished. "Yeah. But honestly I didn't believe he was taking care of you."

"When this started growing," he gestured at his head, "he was afraid my existence was going to reveal his secret and took me in. He says I might be able to shape shift, if my dad was a polymorph. I'm not sure if I believe it, but I don't think there's any way to know for sure."

"Strickler cares about you, huh?"

He thought of the matter of fact way Strickler always spoke to him, how stern he was during combat training, and how he was otherwise secretive. Sure, he was friendly sometimes, but he might act that way to manipulate Jim. "I don't know about that." Why did it hurt to say that? He tasted regret on his tongue from those words.

"Sure he does. He knew you'd get mixed up in this Trollhunter business. I'm still going to get you mixed up into it, by the way. Join us."

"How?"

"Convince Strickler he's doing the wrong thing. I don't think Gunmar is going to respect the changelings like he thinks. Like they deserve."

"It's not his call to make." From the little bit that Jim understood, he knew Strickler was taking orders from their creator. According to Guinevere, it was fate that they side with Gunmar.

Claire nodded knowingly and looked down to avoid eye contact. "I see." But her tone said otherwise.

"I'll try."

"Thank you." Her eyes met his again. They glimmered with hope. He simply could not say no to those eyes.

Toby entered the chamber, panting. "Hey, Vendel wants to talk…"

Claire took Jim by the hand to rejoin his best friend, and the trio made their way back to the Heartstone.

Toby considerately began to introduce Jim to everyone present, starting from his right, the one that captured Jim. "This is AAARRRGGHH!" He pat affectionately at the large troll, which gave the impression that he was much more mild than Jim previously had reason to believe.

"Three Rs," the large troll elaborated. "Sorry, wingman friend." He affectionately pat Jim on the head, who wobbled under the force of the trolls massive stony paw.

Six eyes spoke for himself. "Blinky, at your service."

Toby gestured to the largest Billy goat, who also spoke for himself. "I am Vendel, son of Rundle, son of Kilfred."

"... I'm Jim, son of Barbara."

Toby threw his hands up. "And that's everyone. Except Draal the Deadly, son of Kanjigar, the last Trollhunter. Wasn't he supposed to come?"

"I told NotEnrique to get him when he went home. Maybe he can't sneak past my parents."

"Yeah, I can't see Draal sneaking."

Jim smiled at his friends banter. He'd not had a chance at friendly conversation with trolls. He shouldn't have allowed Strickler to take him into the Order and miss all this.

"I don't like this," Vendel announced. "He carries the insignia of the treacherous spies. He's only here to give red herrings."

Claire retorted. "Even AAARRRGGHH! left the Gumm Gumms, why can't Jim?"

"Um, sore subject," Toby warned. He pat the big troll affectionately. Jim finally remembered what he'd read about the troll in the Ga-Huel and how he defected. He and the big guy had something in common.

"I don't want anymore humans to die for a war they have no part in," Jim declared. Being reunited to his human friends was like rediscovering his old self, and he'd give anything to protect them. Eventually Vendel permitted them to speak openly in front of the impure, but not before commenting what a shame it was Draal hadn't shown up yet.

"I looked up the coordinates for the bridge based off of Strickler's notes, it's a warehouse over off of the strip in-"

"No it's not." The trolls and Trollhunter turned to the intruder with accusing stares. "If you go to the warehouse they'll ambush you."

The largest and oldest troll grumbled. "Well if you're so knowledgeable, where's the bridge?"

"In the museum."

Claire shook her head. "It can't be. After we found it, they moved it-"

"To a lower level, where you wouldn't think to look for it." Claire looked incredulously to Blinky and Vendel. Jim wondered how long they'd been searching for it, and here he was, actually able to give answers. "But if you go, you'd be handing them exactly what they need to open the portal. If you want to win, you can't go there."

"But my brother-"

"But Gunmar!" Blinky threw up his hands. "He simply must not be released! As this Jim has stated, your brother is safe for the time being."

"The bridge must be destroyed," Vendel stated.

"I concur."

Claire was seething. She was outnumbered. Jim touched her shoulder, hoping to comfort her. "All we need is a fetch. The goblins listen to me, I can get them to find him and bring him back. We can destroy the bridge and still save your brother." There was a sparkle in her eyes at his suggestion.

Toby perked up, ready to jump on the good news. "Funny you should say that, we got one just yesterday! We've already got Chompski on the mission, but I'm sure he'd appreciate some company. Goblins don't eat gnomes, do they?"

"It's settled then. The task at hand is to destroy the bridge without ourselves being destroyed." Vendel turned to the Trollhunter.

"I think we can be more low key than that. Huh, infiltrator?" She nudged Jim with her elbow.

"I can talk to the changelings and see if I can get them to break their alliance with the Gumm Gumms."

"With what authority," Blinky asked doubtfully.

"As second in command." He got hot under the spotlight as all eyes turned on him.

Vendel broke his stare to scold the Trollhunter again. "Second in command?" He gaped at Blinky next. "And you! You're the one who brought him straight here!"

"Now see here, how much worse would it have been if we'd turned him loose?!"

"I'm standing right here…"

Toby pat Jim on the back. "Good job Jimbo. You were a big honcho for the bad guys, but you're now a double-agent, big honcho for the good guys!"

"It won't work," Blinky predicted.

"So? Let Jimbo have a chance, and if that doesn't work, we'll go in blazing! We know where the bridge is. What's the worst that could happen, they tell him no?" He looked to Jim for confirmation he could not give. A lot worse could happen; his rank did not give him immunity.

"How are we to trust he won't simply sell us out?" Claire instinctively touched a fingertip to her glasses at Vendel's question. The peace offering was an acceptable answer to her.

Toby was quick to defend him. "It's Jimbo! I would trust him with my li-"

"You can't," Jim interrupted, fed up with living under the stereotype and too tired to argue over the sins of his colleagues. Toby seemed hurt, knowing full well it wasn't true. "Changelings aren't trustworthy. But isn't this the best option we have at survival?"

"Why, he even talks like them." Jim rolled his eyes at the underhanded comment. "I have half a mind to cage him back up, and it may well be the sensible half."

"Great, I'll last another minute in the trollpocalypse in the shelter of a cage. Excellent suggestion."

Claire put her hands up to ease the building tension. "Jim goes to the Order, which can't do anything without the amulet. If he can convince them, he comes back to tell me or Toby, and we can meet back up here to discuss what happens next."

"I call dibs," Toby announced. Jim squeezed an arm around Toby's shoulders in agreement.

"And if he brings back an assassin?"

Claire rolled her eyes. "Then I'll have Draal kick his butt."

"That won't be necessary," Jim assured.

Vendel looked at the half breed. "And if they don't agree to end their alliance with the Gumm Gumms?"

Blinky rubbed his hands together. "I do fear that is the likeliest of scenarios." They awaited Jim's response.

"Then we're exactly where we are now. No closer, no further." He feared what would happen to himself, but that was his own concern.

•••

Jim felt light, floating up a water- colored glowing crystal staircase alongside an enchanted warrior and his best friend. "I think I know a way that I can still see the play."

Toby guffawed at him. "You're about to talk to assassins about changing sides and that's what you think about?"

"I missed you guys, a lot. It was all I had to look forward to."

Claire laughed. "The play isn't that important."

"I know it's important to you. So, I'll go in the sewers under the theatre-"

"The sewers?"

"- and use the Looking Glass. It would be like watching a silent film on the small screen."

Toby tapped a finger to his chin. "We could get you some popcorn and soda, so you can pretend to get the full movie experience."

Claire laughed at Jim's suggestion. "Reminds me of a musical. I'll wear the glasses, so I can see when you're watching." They smiled at each other over their plans. At the top of the steps Toby and Jim shared one more tight squeeze, and Claire carved a semicircle into the wall with the horngazel. "It will take time to get them to trust you, but someday we'll get you a horngazel, too. Thanks for doing this," she leaned up and pecked him on the cheek. "Good luck. And don't die again."

He was stupefied. Toby was stupefied. She nudged Jim gently in the direction of the portal and his momentum carried him through to the other side.

•••

Jim departed from Trollmarket, wandering through the woods toward Arcadia square. He felt light, like he could leap through the trees. Claire was the Trollhunter. He put aside his concern about her facing Bular for another time. As it was, there was a team that was working to stop the activation of Killahead bridge and prevent the Eternal Night. He had to believe this would work. And best of all, he was called one of the TrollHunters. There was finally somewhere he belonged; he had a duty, and it was as guardian of the human race as well as the good trolls (whether they appreciated it or not), and not the head of an organization that was bringing the apocalypse.

He considered sneaking into Strickler's car to get him alone to propose Claire's idea. Otherwise, if another changeling found him first, he-

The thought shattered when a few stray notes from a whistled tune met his ears and stopped his heart. He glanced around. He was surrounded by an otherwise quiet forest. He crouched, though he knew he'd been spotted. Without thinking, the daggers found their way into his hands.

The whistling drew closer, and closer, the tune that kept them company in the hollows of the museum when Strickler was following his personal agenda and the goblins were on their mission. He used to take comfort in that familiar tune because it meant company. It meant he wasn't alone. It had an entirely different meaning now.

"I see the mutt is off its leash." The serpentine fighter finally revealed herself crouching in the trees above. She rolled forward, doing a flip before her hooves dug softly into the fresh grass.  _This is an act,_  he wanted to tell himself.  _She knows me better than this. I know her better than this_. "Time to take you back to your master."

"Nomura," he began to plead. Instinctively he stepped back.

"There's only one thing that's going to save you now. Open the portal to Trollmarket, and you might live." She withdrew her khopesh, which illuminated the nearby trees and earth with a fiery glow.  
He could not fathom jeopardizing all he'd just salvaged, everything that had already been taken from him finally restored. He twirled a dagger to get a better hold and changed his stance to be offensive. He found Toby, and Claire. He met (relatively) friendly trolls. They got along, better than he and the changelings ever did. He thought about how certain his friends were, how certain the trolls were, in their identity when they were introduced to him that night. He snarled in Trollish. _"My name is Jim. Son of Barbara. Protector of the Light Clad One."_

Nomura cackled. "And I thought chivalry was dead. Good thing I sold you out to Bular, traitor."  
He was dead. He knew he couldn't face her and stand. But he couldn't stand to do anything less. He braced a dagger against her incoming khopesh- it was no easy task. But she toyed with him. "You trust Stricklander too much. You trust everyone too much." She made another swipe. Their blades sparked against each other. "Your friends were willing to let you die at the hands of the Order."

"That's not true!" He leapt back to avoid the next slash, but his balance was thrown off, overwhelmed with her speed and the sting of her words.

"Bular is going to have you gutted like a pig." She closed the distance and swung a leg around and back, which caused him to curl into her hoof. Despite that his vision was fading, he forced his fists up so the blades would protect his face. But he was already drifting away. "You may have trusted your friends to save you, but they're going to die because of you." She was a blur as she twirled with the grace of a dancer. She evaded his blades while she landed a hoof to the side of his head.


	17. Convergence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own TrollHunters. Tunafishprincess has been a phenomenal beta reader, and a huge motivator for this story getting published. Referenced works include the movie Labyrinth directed by Jim Henson, the book TrollHunters by Guillermo del Toro and Daniel Kraus, and the book The Adventure Begins by Richard Ashley Hamilton.  
> Words spoken in Goblin are italicized.

Jim heard words rather than voices. A string of words where he was the subject, a question to another speaker. He should be the one to answer for himself. He considered. But his voice wasn't coming out. He forgot what they said. Time passed but he didn't know how long. Now voices were registering, familiar but their names and faces didn't come to mind. He still couldn't speak. Time passed but he didn't know how long.

He tried to open his eyes. It felt like they were sealed shut, they hurt to open. It hurt to see.

Stricklander?

He noticed Jim looking at him and their eyes locked, albeit Jim's were barely open. Despite the changeling's mastery at facial expressions, Jim realized for the first time he could see right through the changeling's facade, and the changeling was not indifferent to him. He looked as if he could feel the pain and discomfort Jim was in as his own. Jim tried to force his voice.

"...dad..."

It was dark again.

•••

He was shoved up into a locker upside down in the boys changing room at the school gym. Toby's locker, by the smell of the socks in his face.

He retched. He opened his eyes. Toby's dirty sock was indeed in front of him, but he was not in a locker, though the inability to move his limbs convinced him otherwise. He looked around. The museum exhibit was upside down. No wait, that was still him. The sock disappeared into the mouth of a green gremlin on his chest.

"Repeat after me." Strickler stood before him in his human form and fed him lines to repeat. Groggily, Jim obeyed. "Good. Now," he snapped a finger at the tiny troll that clung to his ropes. He heard the recording device begin to run.

"Claire, they've captured me and want you to come to the bridge alone- don't do it, it's a trap!"

"Give me that!" Mr. Strickler snatched up the recorder from the troll that held it and turned his back as he spoke into it. "It seems things have grown awkward, miss Nuñez. Meet me in the alley behind the theatre if you ever want to see your friend again."

"I can't lose you again," Jim called out to her. "Don't open the bridge!" Tears ran into his hairline. He was powerless, played like an instrument.

Strickler clicked off the device and held it to the gremlin. Jim deduced that he was the changeling that took the place of Claire's brother. "Make sure she gets this," Strickler instructed.

"Traitor!" NotEnrique, in response, used Jim's chin as a springboard to get down. The act added more strain to his neck. Jim noticed that Strickler was standing at the top of crudely built stairs of scaffolding reinforced with packaging crates and wooden boxes, likely the same ones that were used to send the pieces of Killahead here, which stood assembled beside the stairs.

Strickler waited for the two of them to be alone and spoke in a harsh whisper. "What in Athena's name drove you to flee to the Trollhunter?"

"You didn't tell me you were going to eat people!"

"Who told you that?"

"Gwen did. At least she was honest."

Strickler frowned to himself. "But she was teaching…. Scarbaach," he growled the name. He humphed to himself. Jim felt ashamed- he'd been warned about the polymorph, and was still tricked by a simple changeling trick. "No matter. You'll have a hand in making history all the same."

"No, we can stop this! If we free Gunmar, people are going to die. I know we're not human, but you have a heart! You must-  _care_ \- about my mom. How can you let this happen to her? To anybody?"

"This war is a millennia older than you. Gunmar is inevitable. I am protecting our kind. The only chance we have to survive is to side with the Gumm Gumms."

"Gunmar doesn't care about changelings! It's not going to work! We can get the humans on our side, I know it!"

"Just because you're affectionate with the Trollhunter does not mean you can change fate."

"I'm not aff- never mind that. There's a chance to stop this, and I'm willing to take it."

"Then you are willing to jeopardize our entire race."

"Are you not already taking that risk?"

"What a shame. After everything I've taught you, and yet you know nothing." He turned his back to Jim and spoke over his shoulder. "Just between you and me, when Gunmar rules the surface, I'll do my best to look after your mother." He descended down the steps, leaving Jim alone with his bonds and burdens.

Jim was abandoned. He writhed in his restraints. The way the ropes held his weight made them burn against his skin, which deterred him from struggling. He thought of the spare blade that he could feel was no longer under his clothing. He could see his cloak, weapons, and satchel piled in the corner. It would do him no good in this position. He thought about how quick Strickler was to use him as bait for the Trollhunter, and when the rim of his vision began to lose color, he took a deep breath and wrestled against the ropes until he ran out of air. It made him dizzy and weak, and he had flashbacks to the pit where he awaited the stalkling's return. He recalled how powerless he felt, wallowing in mud. Then suddenly he remembered Strickler embracing him after pulling him out. The bitterness of betrayal gave him a second wind and he struggled again until he was out of breath. Unfortunately, being weighed down on the ropes caused the knots to tighten the more he fought against the restraints. His troll genes didn't give him an advantage in this position, either. Instead he wept.

But he couldn't even be afforded a moment of privacy with his thoughts. Nomura's heels clicked as she entered, cast iron teapot in one hand, a gilded teacup and saucer balanced on a cheap paperback book in the other. She was the second to last person he wanted to see. She sat on a cargo crate below him, the floral scent of tea wafting up to his sensitive nose. As best he could manage he tried to turn his face from her, but he couldn't manage to make the bitter tears stop. "Quit your moping. It's getting on my nerves." He expected her to say something like that, which made him angrier, and made it more difficult to contain his emotion. She groaned and climbed up the boxes to approach him. He winced. She smeared a towel over his face gruffly. "Disgusting." She descended the steps and made herself comfortable once more on her box. Did she just show an act of kindness in wiping his face? He would never get used to changelings.

Nomura slowly sipped three cups of tea and read about half the book in silence before the little green monster came in to relieve her. "Watch him, I'm going to let Bular in." Jim was left alone with the smaller changeling, dreading the arrival of the son of the Skullcrusher.

The one the goblins called Party Monster came up to a higher step to get a good look at the oddity while he was still alive. "You're the apprentice, eh?"

"How could you do it."

The frog looking thing shrugged at him. "Easily. My hands are tied. In a matter of speaking."

"You know, she talks about you like a brother."

"It's all part of the act. Nothing personal."

"She knows you're a changeling. But she doesn't hate you. I asked her." The frog shuffled around uncomfortably. "She trusted you to get Draal. You came here instead, didn't you? To sell her out."

"I thought they sent you to fetch me after I did a number on your goblins."

"Nope. The Trollmarket trolls captured me. I didn't even want to find the Trollhunter. I was looking for Tobes. I was trying to save him."

"So why'd you try to come back to this dump?"

"I thought, as second in command, maybe I could steer the Order in the right direction." He realized now that he said the words out loud how delusional he was to believe such a thing.

NotEnrique laughed. "You thought you could do that by yourself?"

"No, but I had to do something."

NotEnrique grumbled. He looked around and spoke low so as not to be overheard. "You're not by yourself. Ain't no way she'd leave you hangin'." He stopped at the interruption of the entrance of Bular and Nomura, who'd taken on her troll form, and scrambled down the scaffolding.

"Stricklander expects to be here shortly with the Trollhunter," Nomura offered Bular.

"Excellent." Bular scaled the bridge with ease despite its steepness, climbing on all fours with the agility of a gorilla. He stopped near the captive to sniff at him. He growled. "I have plans for you. After the Trollhunter comes here to meet her doom, I will make an example of you to the other impures who think they can commit treason."

"She won't come. I already warned her. She knows everything."

The rumble of laughter erupted from the monster at the arrival of the other attendants. Strickler flashed into his troll form as he entered, escorting the Trollhunter from behind to deter her from fleeing. Fragwa chuckled as he led the group from the front.

She didn't listen. Strickler's trap worked, and just the fact that Jim was here would lure her to her death. "No, Claire, I told you not to come!"

"You promised you'd see the play," she smiled, but he saw her lighthearted demeanor was only surface level. She turned to Bular. "Now let him go, I brought the amulet."

In response, Bular swung a blade and pointed the tip at Jim. "Open the bridge. I will not ask again."

The smallest changeling shuffled out of her path so she could ascend the steps and open the portal. "Sorry, sis. It's just business."

With every step she took, he tried to stop her with his words. "Don't do this, Claire! If you release Gunmar, if you release his army- no one will survive him! Think of your parents! Think of our friends! Everyone in Trollmarket- how will you save your brother if there's no home for him to come back to?"

She paused with the amulet held inches away from the surface of the stone. The vapors of magic wafted from the amulet expectantly. There was a flash of pain on her face at his words. Quickly she replaced it with a wink. She took a step back and pulled out a whistle and blew.

A rumble and a clamour responded in the adjacent room. "You said the Trollhunter was alone!" Nomura glared accusingly at Strickler.

"Not Trollhunter. TrollHunters," Claire retorted. The tarp that blocked the exhibit fell. Framed in the doorway were the named TrollHunters, AAARRRGGHH!, Blinky, Draal, Toby and Darci.

Toby had on a bizarre getup made of school lunch trays, a cooking pot for a helmet, something like a jetpack made from fire extinguishers, and a music player strapped onto the front. Darci had on stolen padding from the football team and a helmet. Both carried bats.

"I am Toby! Grandson of Nana! Fan of hard rock!" He hit the button. Soft jazz slowed their role.

"And I am Darci, daughter of detective Scott, here to kick- Toby, that's the wrong one."

"I'm fixing it! No, let me, you passed it. There!"

Papa Skull began to play. Claire took her cue. "For the glory of Merlin, daylight is mine to command!"

"Kill them all!" Bular roared. He brought his sword down on the warrior in front of him and she braced against his blade with her own. At the sound of a rumble and crunching wood, she sidestepped, and a large blue troll took her place.

His momentum threw back Bular, and they wrestled with their hands locked onto each other. "I am Draal the Deadly, son of Kanjigar, and you will pay for my father's death!"

The goblins swarmed Claire as the trolls engaged in hand to hand combat. Jim called them out to deter them from leaping onto her. "Mutton Chops, stop that! Greg, don't- you deserved that!  _Stand down! Down! Treason!_ "

They clung onto her and tested their teeth against the plates of her armor. She continued to swat at the attackers. "TP! Help Jim!"

Jim glanced in Toby's direction to see his friend airborne and headed right at him. They both screamed. Toby smacked into him and accidentally kicked Jim in the mouth as he tried to get a hold of the ropes. He took a paring knife he stole from Nana's kitchen and began to cut through the bonds. "So, how's it hanging?"

"Upside down, as you could probably tell. I should've taken Vendel up on his offer and spent the night in the cage."

"Nah, you should've crashed at my place."

Jim agreed that was the best idea. He tried to be patient, but he'd had weeks of training in combat and was surrounded by it. He'd been nothing but useless since troll puberty struck and he was itching to fix it. He huffed. "What's taking so long, Tobes? Are you using the sharp side?"

"I know how a knife works." Jim heard him pause and mumble to himself. He was indeed using the wrong side. Jim ended up twisted around enough that he could hear but not see when Daylight bit against metal. He rolled his eyes at Strickler's cheesy one liner, and was irked that his mentor was attacking the girl he cared about. Suddenly there was a clamour, and the scaffolding succumbed to gravity. He tried looking back to see how the two combatants fared with the change in terrain, and suddenly he and Toby descended. Claire swung from the rope overhead.

They dropped like a sack of potatoes. "Wish I had a knife like that," Toby commented. He shuffled to his hands and knees to relieve the captive under him.

In front of Jim's face was a dismembered green hand (or hand-foot, it was hard to tell). "Oh no." Bigbite looked at him in shock and repulsion. The gears in its head turned the wrong direction.  _"Stand down!"_

_"Traitor. We serve only Black."_

The goblins, too? Would everyone turn on him? Enraged, he arched his back. Now that his weight wasn't tightening the knots, and thanks to Toby's earlier attempt, the rope finally weakened and snapped with a creak. He let his primal rage dominate his vision with darkness. Toby had his back, swatting away the little traitors with his bat. Jim rolled unthinkingly to the corner where his things were stashed and in a flash, a throwing knife met its target. Another goblin cried out angrily and leapt for Jim's throat, but was thrown aside with a swing from Toby's bat. Jim had a dagger back in each hand and rejoined the fray, fighting alongside his friend with the same mutual collaboration they developed in multiplayer fighter games.

His focus shattered at the sound of her voice. The black cleared from his sight, and he saw that Strickler had Claire pinned, unarmored, against the ledge of the bridge, one of her arms twisted behind and the other held back from its glowing blue target. "Claire!" The rebels meant nothing to him in an instant.

"I'll draw enemy fire, compadre," Toby beat back the assailants that tried to take advantage of the opening as Jim dashed to the bridge. "Eat wood, scuzzweed!"

One more goblin clung to Jim's ankles and tripped him at the foot of the bridge. He unleashed his frustration with a kick, launching it halfway across the battlefield, and he himself charged at Strickler, running up the bridge.

Strickler anticipated him, and at the last second lowered his horns to ram against Jim's. With a twist of his neck and a leg sweep, he sent Jim over the ledge, barely keeping Claire pinned to the structure who called out to her ally as he went over the edge. Instinctively Jim grabbed a hold of the grooves in the stone, though the portal threatened to swallow him as the wind dragged at him. In front of him was the amulet, and beside him was NotEnrique. They exchanged glances that communicated that they indeed were on the same side, and together reached for the amulet to withdraw it from where it was installed. NotEnrique summoned all his strength with the battle cry, "This is for you, Suzy!"

Raw energy coursed through their bodies. His body could only interpret the sensation as pain, more mentally debilitating than anything he'd ever experienced.

There was a silence. There was a shadowy wisp like an orb. It had a sentience to it, and contradicted the light.

There was a roar as the sound of the world returned to him, just before he heard his body beat against the wall. He shook his head. His vision spun counterclockwise momentarily. He tried looking beside him for his recently converted comrade, though he unintentionally rolled left as his equilibrium failed to stabilize. He found the changeling on his back with a look in his eyes like the world was spinning the wrong way for him, too. The bridge was across the floor from them- they'd been shot to the other side of the room.

He wasn't sure if it was from the force with which he was hit in the head or if it was dread that caused the world around him to slow.

Gunmar called out through the portal. Bular answered him. Strickler roared with pleasure. Draal roared in defiance. Jim watched the blue troll make the same desperate attempt he'd failed at. Draal charged across the floor and leapt up to the amulet, using his entire body to pry the medallion. He could see Claire's mouth opening but couldn't hear anything over the troll's roar and the crackling of energy. The energy built, and Jim could sense that something was going to go wrong. NotEnrique just managed to get on all fours and shook his head. Instinctively Jim reached for his scruff and curled his body around the smaller changeling.

The energy exploded. A burst of wind and flash of light overwhelmed all the senses before it all succumbed to silence and stillness.

His hearing was fuzzy, but it began to clear as something shuffled in his arms. Like a lap dog, NotEnrique wriggled loose, shook off the dust, and cleared out. Jim couldn't bring himself to argue- things would go more smoothly for everyone if NotEnrique returned promptly to his post. Jim wobbled to his feet and glanced around. Claire, too, rose to her feet from amongst the rubble of stones piled in place of the bridge. Their eyes met briefly before they each continued to search for survivors. "Draal! No!" She crossed over the threshold to find the fallen troll.

While she examined his condition, Jim went to search for his squishier comrades. He grabbed his few possessions from the corner on the way. He couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that something was about to happen, like a building collapse or the arrival of law enforcement. He found Toby freeing Darci from a pile of piping, but AAARRRGGHH! and Blinky beat him to the scene to assist. "Always wear a helmet," Darci knocked on her football gear. Her humor put them at ease about her physical state. Everyone seemed to be accounted for.

"Master Claire, we must leave at once," Blinky suggested. Jim found the grate and began to remove the tile on top. The sound of rubble clearing echoed across the room.

"Father?" Bular- that was the something Jim dreaded. He pulled aside the grate and his allies gathered. This would have been the first time he'd descended into the sewers while it was raining, however, and the water gurgled below.

"You've got to be kidding me," Claire wilted. She tried supporting a staggering Draal, who leaned also against AAARRRGGHH!

Toby stepped back from the drain. "No way! I'm not gonna jump in the sewer! There's gotta be a chicken surprise down there!"

"Maybe two," Darci speculated. She removed her football helmet as she leaned forward to get a better look at the churning water. Jim rolled his eyes at the humans responses at entering his domain. They just fought in a magic infused battle to protect the world from an army of evil trolls, and this was where they drew the line?

A chime of drawn blades and a trolls roar ushered them into welcoming the prospect, however. Draal and AAARRRGGHH! dropped in, then Darci and Toby. "Ladies first," Jim offered, and followed Claire, and was himself followed by Blinky.

They tumbled through the current. The larger trolls began a cluster to anchor the group, each reaching for the hands or garments of the others. Claire missed a chance to grab hold of Darci. Jim reached for her hand, but just as he did Blinky managed to grip his cloak for a second before the fabric slipped through his fingers.

Bular caught up to them and swat Jim aside, who clung onto the straps of Bular's sheath. The three of them tumbled through a metal grate. Jim kicked Bular in the back of the horns until he saw Claire get away, then he himself kicked off of Bular.

Jim and Claire splashed at the surface to close the distance between them. He finally managed to get a hold of her, but something troubled him. Though he still needed air to breath, he no longer retained the buoyancy of a human. If he held on to Claire, he would only drag her down.

"No, Jim-"

He forced her hands off of his and, obeying instinct, exhaled all the air from his lungs. He heard her voice faintly calling for him as he sank.

His feet hit the bottom. The current here wasn't as powerful as in the sewers. He walked to the nearest bank. His senses were muted by the water in his ears, and there was a feeling he could only explain as darkness. Was it the same primal force that enhanced his coordination in battle? Did it keep him alive when magic surged through his body when he grabbed the amulet? Perhaps it was the dread that the light he'd sought would remain just beyond his grasp, floating at the surface while he sank into shadows.

By the time he made it to the shore, he looked up at the commotion on the bridge to see Claire dangling from Bular's clutch, pinned against a support beam. "No, Claire!" He ran, glancing up repeatedly to see the fight advance. She dropped from Bular's grasp- was she unconscious? He ran harder and hoped fate wouldn't be so cruel...

He barely made it to the bridge when he heard a sound like a power surge followed by a splash. He looked over the edge. Bular was sinking, a claw outstretched and his face frozen with the expression of pain and hatred. His eyes were dim.

"Claire?" Jim's heart was in his throat. He strained to listen over the tumult of the water for her voice.

She swung from the edge of the support beam. "Jim! I did it!" She radiated. She was missing a few hair clips, and her wet locks were disheveled, but she beamed with accomplishment. The monster was gone.

He laughed for her. He took off the cloak and draped it over the ledge. "I'll pull you up." She leapt up to grab onto the fabric and walked up the side of the structure as he pulled. When she was close enough to the top he took her hand to help her the rest of the way. She fell into him, laughing and sighing with relief, and they wrapped their arms around each other. "You're okay," was all he could manage to say.

"You did it," Darci exclaimed. She ran up to Claire and threw her arms around her, nearly knocking her down.

Blinky called from a distance as he trotted toward them. "Master Claire!"

"Fleshbag!" Draal pumped his only fist into the air.

"Claire!" AAARRRGGHH bellowed.

When Blinky approached, for the first time since Claire met him, he stated, "I can't find the words."

"Everyone's alive!" Toby grappled his two human friends and best friend.

"Who's fabulous? We're fabulous!" Darci kicked a leg up.

"Happy!" AAARRRGGHH! joined in on the victory hug and scooped the mass into his arms.

Claire winced. "I was almost squeezed to death," she reminded them. Eventually they all withdrew. Jim draped his cloak back over his shoulders.

"I can't believe it. You killed Bular, the son of Gunmar!" Toby braced himself against the rail.

Draal sighed heavily and rest his hand on Claire's shoulder. "My father has been avenged. Thank you, Trollhunter."

Darci checked her phone. "Hey… we've only got a few minutes left before the play starts!"

"Oh, the play!" Claire combed her fingers part way through her hair and pulled.

"Hurry, Master Claire! Leave Killahead to us, we'll-"

The sounds of sizzling and snarling erupted as a stony phantom rose from the ledge. Bular's skin hissed as it turned to dead stone once more in the meek rays of the setting sun, but still it reached for Toby, who was caught off guard and too surprised to scramble away. Jim instinctively threw a knife, but the monster ignored the blade that penetrated its hide before the surface turned to stone. Bular's eyes turned from red and yellow to solid spectral blue, and he raised a claw to bring down on the fleshbag. It was stopped short of its mark by AAARRRGGHH! His own rage turned his eyes to solid jet and in his fist he grappled Bular's. He roared like an earthquake, and the grooves in his skin glowed radioactive. He drove his other first through Bular and swung with his whole body, so the Gumm Gumm was reduced to rubble.

AAARRRGGHH panted away the anger, drifting back to lucidity, with clear green eyes and the glow of his markings growing dim once more. Toby looked up to him in total shock. "AAARRRGGHH!, your oath…"

"Your life more important," he insisted. "Not pet. Wingman." He held out a fist in camaraderie to Toby.

"Ditto, buddy." Toby blinked away tears and bumped fists with the troll, and then hugged the trolls fist, which was as big around as he was.

"Master Claire, the show must go on. We will take care of Killahead, fear not."

Darci brooded as she began to peel off the wet football gear. "I'm afraid the play's gonna suck. Steve has missed a week of rehearsal. He probably didn't practice his lines in the hospital."

Claire grimaced. Jim lit up. "...I memorized the lines."

"We don't have a makeup artist that good."

"We don't need one. I have an idea on how to shape shift, I just need someone to shape shift into and to stop by Strickler's office."

"Why?"

"He has something called a glamour mask. I read about them."

Blinky perked up. "Indeed, I do recall seeing several in the office." He elaborated on how it worked. "One must simply study the subject for over a minute, and once they don the mask, they will take the form of said subject."

"Wait, you can turn into anyone?" Darci pulled out her phone, shook off the water, and searched for the social media page of a student from a rival school. "What about Lucas?" Jim considered it and took her phone to search out videos of the student on his page.

"So here's the plan," Claire instructed. "Jim and I go to Strickler's office and get the mask. Darci, Toby, you two help Mary stall."

"My phone!" Darci was indignant.

"I need this. I'll give it back later."

•••

They were relieved that there wasn't a trace of Strickler's return to his office after the battle. The room was still, the oddities and volumes on display silently observed the intruders. Claire combed her hair with her fingers in anxious anticipation of the performance. Jim stared a little longer at Darci's phone, noting key traits about Lucas. "We actually have a lot in common. Similar height, similar hair color."

He withdrew a mask from the display on the bookshelf and replaced it with the one he took from his satchel, black with the charcoal-colored symbol of the two faces.

In a flash, a different boy stood in his place. "What do you think?" Bright green eyes stood out from his raven black hair and pale complexion with notes of olive pigment.

"Convincingly human." Claire shrugged.

His shoulders slouched. "I don't mean like that." His eyes lit up. "We need a code word, so you know when it's me."

"Let's talk about it on the way, Romeo." She took his hand and they hurried to the stage.

•••

Ms. Janeth was clearly heated over the tardiness of her star actress.

"Claire! Where on earth have you been? The play will be starting in- I'm sorry, who is this and why is he backstage?"

"This is…"

"Jareth," Jim supplied.

"My study partner. He's been helping me practice for the play and knows all the lines for Romeo." Though it was an act, Jareth was rosy as a result of Claire's pull on his arm.

Ms. Janeth's eyes sparkled. "Hm. Yes…" She took Jareth by the chin and tilted his face this way and that. He tried not to pull away when she nearly touched the rim of the mask. "But he hasn't practiced his places, he wouldn't know his mark-"

"Neither does Steve," Claire countered.

"But this is so last minute-"

"Amen, amen! But come what sorrow can, it cannot countervail the exchange of joy that one short minute gives me in her sight. Do thou but close our hands with holy words, then love-devouring death do what he dare, it is enough I may but call her mine."

The theatre arts teacher fanned herself with her copy of the script in response to Romeo cradling the hands of Juliet and his passionate dictation. "The show must go on! Your dressing room is that way." Jim began to drift toward the boys changing room when the sound of rushing feet set him on edge.

"Lucas!"

Mary threw her arms around Jim and he writhed his face away from her puckering lips. "No, it's not! It's me, Jim!"

Claire pulled Mary off of the poor boy. Mary whispered accusingly. "Are you a changeling?"

"Eh…" There was not really an easy way to answer.

"This is Jareth. He goes to another school. He's going to play Romeo." Claire lay out the alibi to Mary.

"Oh ho ho. Has anyone told Steve?"

"Where is this butt snack?!"

Jareth gulped. "I think so."

"You think you can replace me…" The jock stormed over to the newcomer and paused when he saw his rival. "Wait, you? Aren't you on the team for the rival school?"

"Not all Greeks look the same, Steve. Don't be so racist." Claire's protective nature she took up from guarding the trolls started to leak into her demeanor, as apparent by the way she stood between the boys.

Toby in a yellow costume shirt looked up at the commotion. He stared hard at Claire and Jareth and also stepped forward to join the barricade. "Welcome to the cast, buddy." He fist-bumped Jareth and turned to stare down Steve. Darci recognized the new actor and also stepped in. Steve looked in each of the faces of the cast that surrounded Jareth.

"You're going to regret this, butt munch. You can't replace Steve Palchuck. Maybe I don't want to be in this stupid play, you think of that?" He made a gesture of an explosion with a "poof" sound.

"Nice to meet you too," Jareth waved to him. When the coast was clear, Claire shoved him in the way of the changing room once more.

He got clever with his costume. Remove the mask. Remove the armor. Don the mask. Don the armor. The costume shirt didn't fit quite right, but fortunately he and Lucas had such a similar build that Jareth's armor only needed slight adjustments to fit. The shirt that was fitted for Steve had billowy sleeves on Jareth, and with the leather breastplate it looked deliberate for the style of the era. Ms. Janeth and Claire were pleasantly surprised by his resourcefulness.

•••

The audience was hushed, captivated by the scene acted out by amateurs on the mediocre set. Fake flowers were fastened over the surfaces of a trellis for the backdrop and strung in garlands to frame the slab where Romeo lay.

"I will kiss thy lips. Haply, some poison yet doth hang on them, to make me die with a restorative." Juliet pinned back a lock with her fingertips as she bent down to kiss him. Despite the mask, the magic permitted him to feel the warmth of her lips. It was like a dream came true while he was pretending to sleep. "Thy lips are warm. Then I'll be brief." She reached over him for a prop. "O happy dagger! This is thy sheath." She groaned, and slouched. "There rust, and let me die." She reclined beside him.

Eli tactfully waited a moment to let the emotion steep before he crossed to center stage. "A glooming peace this morning with it brings. Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things. For never was a story of more woe than this of Juliet and her Romeo."

The curtain closed, muffling the applause. "We survived the play," Claire sighed.

"Did we? I thought we just died."

"I think we've done enough of that for a lifetime. Let's not die anymore, even pretend." She stepped around the table to face the curtain. He too sat up and stood from his deathbed.

"Promise. And Claire, I promise I'll help you find your brother. Even if I have to go to the Darklands myself." He regret he no longer had an army he could send through the fetch like he'd previously planned. She took his hand, and the curtain opened. "Remember to bow."

"You mean if we have to go to the Darklands. We're doing this together. Remember to smile." He obeyed.

Even without rank, even without an army, he would give everything he had for her.

•••

"All hail Claire, the Bular slayer!" The ruckus of celebration droned throughout all of Trollmarket at the defeat of the last Gumm Gumm on the surface. At least for now, the fear of death lay piled in a vault, reduced to gravel. Toby went around passing out tacos he picked up from the taco truck on the way in. Claire and Darci caught Mary up on the battle, their conversation interrupted frequently with praise for the TrollHunter's victory by boisterous trolls attending the celebration.

Jim sat perched on a bar top, surrounded by numerous trolls that rattled the establishment with their reactions to his one- man- show. He gave a less than accurate rendition of the play, adding his own flavor with references to his time in the Janus Order as well as the people he knew from school by taking their shapes with the aid of the Glamour Mask.

He took the form of the nurse that would take his measurements inside the Order as he acted out Juliet's nurse. "I pray you sir, what saucy merchant was this, so full of himself?"

He switched to his own human form. "A gentleman, nurse, that loves to hear himself talk. He'll talk more in a minute than he'll stand to listen in a month." The trolls roared with laughter.

He switched to the nurse, speaking in a manner that was much more nasally than he'd ever heard her speak. "Something something, scurvy knave! I'm none of his flirt girls! And thou must stand by too, to have him use me at his pleasure?"

Enter Eli as Peter in a flash of magic. "I saw no man use you at his pleasure!" He brandished the cheap cardboard sword and the trolls roared at the display. Jim reached again to remove and reapply the mask and take on his own human form again, laughing along with the trolls. He chugged at his draft to reclaim his voice. He caught Claire watching his performance from over the rim of his mug and waved to her. He was trying his best to fit in. Her reputation with the trolls improved immensely with the defeat of Bular, but he feared that when things settled down for Trollmarket again, their distrust in him due to his ancestry would return. If he couldn't keep them amiable toward him, the repercussions would affect their trust in Claire.

He tried to dismiss his paranoia. The trolls called for an encore in their trollish way and he obliged. He forgot where he left off in the scene and jumped to the next one. He removed and replaced his mask, and Juliet with a blue streak of hair and red and gold gown raised a hand to her forehead and the other to her heart. "She is late, she is lame! Love's heralds should be thoughts-"

"That's not how it goes!" True Claire called out from the sidelines and triggered another uproar of laughter from the audience.

Toby came back around and took a seat at the bar beside the actor to enjoy his taco. "Good to have you back, Jimbo."

Jim smiled in response. "It's good to be back." He took a deep breath. This was more along the lines of what he'd expected when he was told that part of him belonged to a world hidden away from humans. This was that something more that stifled the ticking of the clock. Here he could discover himself, explore magic, and have adventures with his friends.

There was still a war, but now he knew that he was on the right side, and he couldn't help but believe that it would also be the winning side. He glanced back at the Trollhunter. He had a purpose. He would do everything in his power to protect her, to empower her to win this war for them. He would help rescue her brother from the Darklands- if he could manage, he hoped to save all the familiars from the Darklands.

There was a lingering ache. Perhaps it was all that talk Strickler put in his head, perhaps it was in his blood, but something in him felt a certain responsibility to the changelings. He didn't know how to make the different pieces of himself fit together, but with time and the help of his friends, perhaps that would eventually be mended. For now, he was free from the Order. He was with friends. He was safe.


	18. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own TrollHunters. Tunafishprincess has been a phenomenal beta reader, and a huge motivator for this story getting published. Referenced works include the movie Labyrinth directed by Jim Henson, the book TrollHunters by Guillermo del Toro and Daniel Kraus, and the book The Adventure Begins by Richard Ashley Hamilton.

The cul de sac was quiet except for the hum of nighttime from the far off highways and the chirping of insects. There was the soft crunch of rubber on asphalt as the blue sedan pulled up into the driveway across the street. "The eagle has landed," Toby announced through the walkie talkie.

Claire's voice answered, "let us know when she's heading in."

The walkie talkie clicked as he reported. "It could be a while. She's been spending more and more time in her car when she gets home."

"It's okay, we don't want to rush this on her."

"Roger."

•••

Jim sighed, tilting his head back enough that even with the hood up he could see the stars through the leaves.

"You okay, Jim?" She looked so enchanting, postured to maintain her balance on the branches, the ambient glow enhanced by his vision causing her blue streak to shine and her eyes to sparkle.

"I'm great," he sighed. "Thanks for doing this for me."

"A Trollhunter always answers the call."

A beep from the walkie talkie shifted their focus. "The eagle is approaching the nest. I repeat, the eagle is approaching the nest."

"Showtime," Claire answered into the walkie talkie.

"War hammer out."

Jim took another deep breath and exhaled. Daintily Claire swung her legs together, flipped backwards from her roost and swung by her arms before dropping onto the ground. Jim gingerly dropped his satchel into her arms before backflipping dramatically, cloak whipping from the descent. "Show off," she chided coyly.

•••

"Doctor L!"

"Oh, hi Toby." He noted her somber demeanor, the way she hung on her frame from the weight of her mind the same way Jim did. "Isn't it late?"

"Um, yeah, but I had something really important that couldn't wait."

"Oh, okay. Do you want to come inside?" Though she was was eager to retire despite that sleep wouldn't grant her reprieve, she couldn't turn Toby away.

"Thank you, Doctor L!" He walked ahead of her to the living room as she shut the door.

"What's this about?" When she caught up, he'd pulled out the chair closest to the kitchen for her.

"You're going to want to sit down."

"Okay?" She did so, too tired from work to argue. Truth be told, functioning itself became a labor since… not right now, she instructed herself. His best friend needs support, too, and she was the grown up.

Toby stepped around in front of her and waved to the direction of the back door. She was about to rise from her chair when he fanned a hand in her direction. Claire stepped from around the wall. Politely she folded her hands together, bouncing nervously on her toes. "Hi, Doctor Lake."

"Claire, is everything okay?"

"Better than you can believe!" She brushed her hair back behind her ear as she glanced at Toby, who nodded encouragingly. "We wanted to show you something, but it's a really, really big secret. No one else can know."

Barbara was uncomfortable with making such a promise without knowing the premise. If a classmate were injured and needed patching, for instance, she couldn't legally practice medicine outside of work. But their demeanor did not imply that anyone was dying. She decided that the only way to discover what they wanted was to go along with it. "Okay," she nodded. Curiously, Claire now waved toward the back door.

He stepped slowly, cautiously, around the wall, his eyes locked on hers.

"...mom."

A hand flew to her mouth, then her chest, then both hands to her mouth. She was dreaming again. Except when he went to embrace her she leapt from her seat and could feel him in her arms. "Oh, Jim!"

"Mom!" his tears stained her scrubs. This was real. Or a very convincing dream she never wanted to wake up from. "I missed you so much."

"Is it really you? I thought you were-" her voice choked at the last word. She held him back to examine his face.

"I'm alright, mom." She pressed her hands to the sides of his face and frowned at the sensation under her fingers. Was there an invisible ridge? He quickly pulled her hands down and held them.

"What happened? I don't understand."

The three of them stuttered, wells and ums exchanged as they glanced at each other. "It was a political stunt," Jim explained. "As far as anyone else knows, I don't exist. This isn't happening."

"Are you okay? Is someone after you?"

"I'll be fine, mom. I just really had to see you again."

"TP, let's get some air," Claire suggested, and the two went through the back to sit on the steps.

"So, what happened?" Barbara pulled her hands back out of his to pat his shoulders, touch his face, brush aside his bangs, feel that he was physically there in front of her.

"I'm sorry. I can't talk about it, it would put you in danger. I wanted to come earlier, too, but I had to wait for the dust to settle." An image of Bular as he crumbled to rubble in front of them filled his mind momentarily.

"Does this mean you can visit me, at least?"

He glanced at his friends through the door, their backs turned to him and answered softly, "I would like that."

"Do you want a drink?" with a hand on his shoulder she guided him with her to the kitchen. She felt that if she left him alone in the room, the apparition would end. His eyes lit up.

"I could make us hot chocolate. Like when we used to star gaze together. Do we have any mini marshmallows left?"

"I always keep a stash of mini marshmallows and whipped cream. Not the healthiest diet, I know."

"You haven't been eating at all," he remarked, having observed her slender frame when they hugged. Instead of commenting she pat his cheek affectionately.

He smiled to himself with the nostalgia of cooking, even if it was simply heating milk in a saucepan with a few ingredients. It was endearing to him to find utensils put away in the wrong drawers. He was home but he wasn't home, like he came from another timeline. He wanted to tell her everything, but it would complicate things and endanger her. After having his plans foiled, where would Strickler go? Not to mention the Janus Order itself wanted Jim's head for his betrayal. "I think it goes without saying I lost the leadership position, but I'm actually in a better place now. I have a different mentor, and I'll resume my studies, but they're a bit unconventional. And I've made more friends." Sort of, he added to himself.

"I'm relieved to hear," she leaned against the counter.

"I've also picked up on a few languages," he looked warily at the doorway before saying something she didn't understand.

"Impressive! What language is that?"

"It's old. Like, stone age old. You won't hear people using it."

"That's neat." He pointed at the cabinet and she took out a mug for each of them. He served them each warm, rich hot chocolate and topped each with marshmallows and whipped cream. "I miss your cooking."

"I miss cooking. It's been a while since I had a decent kitchen to work in."

"Well, anytime you're able, you can stop by. Make yourself a meal or whatever you want."

He liked this idea. He could continue to make enough for two so he could leave a serving for her. Maybe then she could gain her weight back. But this was so risky.

"Thanks." He sipped from his mug, the whipped cream so rich his lips couldn't reach his drink. He wondered how she would handle his mutations were he to reveal them. He wanted to preserve her memory of him as her human son, so he considered the idea and did no more.

"Claire and Toby, and now me, we're the only ones who know you're… back?"

"Pretty much." And Mary and Darci, but that wasn't really important.

"Are they going to be okay?"

"Yeah. They each actually have their own bodyguards. And Claire and I have a personal trainer so we can learn how to defend ourselves."

His intent seemed to do the inverse of what he aimed for, and concern filled her again. "I can't pretend to know what you're going through if you won't tell me, but I want you to know I love you very much. And I have to know you're taking care of yourself."

"I am! I promise. C'mon, drink some."

She did, and smirked. "So you and Claire. Are you guys a thing?"

"Mom."

"I'm relieved. I wish I didn't let you go to that school. Maybe then all you'd have to worry about is your grades and girls and normal boy things, not, I don't know, assassinations and "political stunts" or whatever is going on."

"I'm fulfilling a greater purpose. Really."

"You're no good to anyone if you're dead. Someone famous said it. It's true, you know."

_Ew, she got that from Strickler_ , he realized. "Yeah, I've heard that before."

•••

Toby waved goodbye and headed back across the street to his home. Claire and Jim hopped the fence toward the canals. Barbara waited a moment before sneaking to the fence to peer over it. Next to Claire in Jim's place was a hooded figure that walked with a spring in their step. They tapped Claire in the shoulder and sprinted ahead, and Claire ran after them. Was that still Jim? Where did the cloak come from? And where were they headed? Curiously just as the trees shrouded them she thought she saw a flash of blue light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've made it this far, thank you so much for reading! The next project, Light Clad, will take place within the same universe and in the same timeline as Labyrinth. I'll do my best to publish as frequently, depending on chapter length. I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I did!


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